


Slytherin Harry and The Chamber of Secrets

by Authormitchel



Series: SlytherinHarry [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Rewrite, Rewrite, Second year, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12658821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authormitchel/pseuds/Authormitchel
Summary: Harry's back for year two. Millicent sort of becomes a Weasley, Marcus Flint has a soft side, Draco gets to show his cunning, Goyle serves as Harry's bodyguard, and Riddle comes back for round two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all of us who are still waiting for our letters. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. This will be updated weekly. Any mistakes are my own, please don't roast me. I don't own Harry Potter, I'm just a fan. You can follow me on Tumblr at thinkmyhappythoughts on Twitter at Mitchel_chelsea, also on Thought Catalog, as Chelsea Temple. 
> 
> And Jo, if you're reading this, tweet me, I have an idea.

“Happy birthday to me…happy birthday to me…”

No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were having people over and Harry had been sent to his room. Uncle Vernon had a deal going with some people named the Mason’s and Harry’s job was to pretend like he wasn’t there. Harry had retreated out the back door after he was told to stay out of Aunt Petunia’s way while she cleaned. Harry missed his friends, Millie and Hermione, Blaise and Ron, Neville and the other Gryffindor’s who Harry had come to know last year. They, however, didn’t seem to be missing him at all. 

He hadn’t received a single letter all year, even though Ron had said something about Harry coming and staying with him this summer. 

His one source of enjoyment had been muttering nonsensical words under his breath just to watch Dudley totter out of the room as fast as he could. He couldn’t technically do magic outside of school without getting in severe trouble, but Dudley didn’t know that.

What he wouldn’t give for a message from Hogwarts? From anyone, he’d even be happy with one from Malfoy, just to be sure that it all hadn’t been a dream….

Before long Harry was sent to his room with a mostly empty stomach and words of warning. 

“Remember, boy---one sound---“

Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe, slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on his bed. 

The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it. 

 

Harry managed not to shout, but it was close. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears, and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. 

As they stared at each other, Harry heard Dudley’s voice from the hall. 

“May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?” 

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm-and leg holes.

“Ex---hello,” said Harry nervously. 

“Harry Potter!” said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir…Such an honor it is…” 

“Thank you,” said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage. Even sitting he was taller than the creature. 

“Who are you?” asked Harry tactfully. 

“Dobby, sir, Just Dobby, Dobby the house-elf,” said the creature. 

“Oh—really?” said Harry.”Er—I don’t want to be rude or anything, but—this isn’t the best time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom.”

Aunt Petunia’s high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head. 

“Why are you here, Dobby?” asked Harry remembering the elf’s name. 

“Oh, yes ,sir,” said Dobby earnestly. “Dobby has come to tell you, sir…it is difficult, sir…Dobby wonders where to begin…”

“Sit down,” said Harry politely, pointing at the bed. 

To his horror, the elf burst into tears—very noisy tears. 

“Siittt, down….” He wailed. “Never……Never ever….”

Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything—“

“Offend Dobby!” choked the elf. “Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard—like an equal….”

Harry finally managed to calm Dobby, getting him to the bed as Dobby stared up at him with great eyes full of watery adoration. 

“You can’t have met many decent wizards,” said Harry, trying to cheer him up. 

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!!”

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed, pulling Dobby back down towards the bed. Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against her cage. 

“Dobby has to punish himself. Dobby almost spoke poorly of his family.”

“Your family?”

“Yes,” said Dobby. “They don’t know Dobby is here, sir, but Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for trying to come and see Harry Potter, sir.” 

“Do they make you do that, Dobby?” asked Harry. 

“Dobby is always having to punish himself, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments.”

“But why don’t you leave? Escape?” If only Harry could do the same, he thought. 

“A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never so Dobby free….Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir….”

Harry stared. It almost made the Dursley’s sound human. 

“Can’t anyone help you,” asked Harry. “Can I?” 

As Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude Harry wished he had kept his mouth shut. 

“Please,” Harry whispered frantically. “please be quiet. If the Dursley’s hear anything, if they know you’re here….”

“Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby…Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew….”

Harry made to speak, but held his tongue. Dobby have him a knowing look. 

“Harry Potter is humble and modest,” said Dobby reverently, his eyes aglow. “Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—“

“Voldemort?” said Harry. 

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned. “Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!”

“Sorry,” said Harry quickly. “A lot of people don’t like it, my friend Ron…..” Harry broke off, thinking about any of them was too painful. 

Dobby leaned forward, his eyes wide as headlights. 

“Dobby heard tell,” he said hoarsely. “that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just months ago….that Harry Potter escaped yet again.”

Harry nodded and Dobby’s eyes suddenly shone with tears. 

“Ah, sir,” he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. 

“Harry Potter is valiant and bold and brave…,” Dobby listed, but something caught his attention. 

“Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.”

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks downstairs and the distant rumble of someone’s voice. 

“W—what?” Harry stammered. “But I’ve got to go back. I don’t belong here, I belong at Hogwarts… my friends will be….” 

“No,” Dobby bellowed. “There is a plot to make terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril! He is too important, sir!” 

“Who, Dobby?” asked Harry before catching the frantic look in Dobby’s eyes. 

“All right!” cried Harry, grabbing the elf’s arm to stop him from hurting himself. “You can’t tell me who, but why go through the bother of warning me in the first place?” Then a thought struck Harry. 

“Is it Vol…..does it have to do with You-Know-Who? Just shake your head,” he added hastily as Dobby’s head titled worryingly close to the wall again. 

Slowly, Dobby shook his head, no.

Harry had the odd urge to laugh. 

“He hasn’t got a brother, has he?” 

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever. 

Harry looked at Dobby. “Nothing is going to happen at Hogwarts,” he assured him. “I mean, there’s Dumbledore, for one thing…”

Dobby bowed his head. 

“Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore’s powers rival He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…., but there are powers that Dumbledore….that no decent wizard….”

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry’s desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps. Silence fell downstairs and Harry knew. 

“Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke.”

“Quick! In the closet!” hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging himself on to the bed just as the door handle turned. 

With a warning and a threat that “one more sound and you’ll wish you’d never been born, boy!” Harry and Dobby were alone again. 

“See what it’s like here?” he said. “See why I’ve got to go back to Hogwarts? It’s the only place I’ve got…I think I’ve got friends.”

“Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?” asked Dobby slyly. 

It clicked in an instant. 

Dobby shuffled his feet. 

“Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best….”

“Have you been stealing my letters?”

“Dobby has them here, sir,” said the elf. Dobby reached into the pillowcase he was wearing and pulled out a huge wad of letters. Harry could make out all of his friends handwriting, there were even a few from Hagrid. 

Harry made a grab for the letters, he didn’t care about Dobby’s excuses. 

“Harry Potter will have them sir, if he gives Dobby his words that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won’t go back, sir!” 

“Never!” said Harry, and he could hear Millicent’s voice in his head scolding him for being so brash. 

He couldn’t tell her to shut it though before Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs. 

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. 

The pudding that was once sitting on the side table in the kitchen, floated up and up. 

“No,” croaked Harry. “Please…they’ll kill me…”

“Harry Potter must say he’s not going back to school…”

“Dobby….”

“Say it, sir….” 

“I can’t…..”

Dobby gave him a tragic look before the pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. Then with a crack like a whip Dobby vanished. 

There were screams, screaming, excuses and the worst was a letter from the ministry. 

 

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped. 

“You didn’t tell us you weren’t allowed to use magic outside school,” said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. “Forgot to mention it….Slipped your mind, I daresay….”

“I’m locking you up,….You’re never going back to that school…never…and if you try and magic yourself out….they’ll expel you!”

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs. 

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, bars were fit to the windows, a flap was put on the doors so he could have some food, and he was only allowed out morning and evening to go to the   
bathroom. 

He was kept in his room round the clock, even Hedwig was ignoring him. 

“It’s no good turning your beak up at it,” he said after he dumped some soggy vegetables in the bottom of her cage. That’s all we’ve got,” said Harry grimly. 

He put the bowl back on the floor next to the flap, and lay back down on the bed, somehow even hungrier than he had been before the soup. 

What if they kept him here forever? Would someone notice if he didn’t show up to Hogwarts in a few weeks? He had a dream about being in a zoo, Dobby was there ensuring that he was safe before he vanished. Then the   
Dursley’s appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at him. 

“Stop it,” Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore head. 

He opened his eyes when it didn’t stop. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at him; a freckle-faced, red haired, long-nosed someone. 

Ron Weasley was outside Harry’s window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are my own. I'm just fan, and do not own Harry Potter, the boy or the series. Thank you for reading.

“Ron?...how did you…. What?” 

Harry’s mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was saying hit him. Ron was leaning out the back window of a car that seemed to be parked in mid-air. 

Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron’s elder twin brother’s, but in the backseat next to Ron was….

“Millicent?”

“Nice decorations, Potter? Did you put up the bars yourself?” 

“What’s been going on?” said Ron. “Why haven’t you been answering my letters? I’ve asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you’d got an official warning for underage magic in front of   
Muggles….”

“I didn’t do it,” said Harry immediately, then looking at the car. “but just imagine the letter you lot are going to get for this…”

“Oh, this doesn’t count,” said Ron. “We’re only borrowing this. It’s Dad’s, we didn’t enchant it. But we don’t want to sit here for too long either.”

“But you can’t magic me out of here.”

“We don’t need to,” said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. “You forget who I’ve got with me.” 

“He means me,” Millicent said from the backseat, passing something forward to Fred. 

“Tie that around the bars,” said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry. 

“If they wake up, I’m dead,” said Harry as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car. 

“Don’t worry,” said Fred. “and stand back.”

Harry moved to the back into the shadows next to Hedwig who was keeping remarkably still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove   
straight up in the air. 

“Get in,” Ron said when they drove back to his window minus the bars.

“But all my Hogwarts stuff, my clothes, my broomstick….”

“Where is it?”

“Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can’t get out of this room…”

“No problem,” said George from the front passenger seat. Fred and George climbed out of the window and into Harry’s room as Millicent took the steering wheel.

The two of them stuck something into the lock and it was open in a matter of seconds. 

“We’ll get your trunk, you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron,” whispered George. 

Inch by inch, after they retrieved the trunk, Harry, Fred and George pushed it out the window, but Harry had heard what he heard, Uncle Vernon’s cough. 

“A bit more,” panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car, having pushed Ron to the other side of the car. “One more push….”

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk, and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car. 

“Okay, let’s go,” George whispered. 

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon’s voice. 

“THAT RUDDY OWL!”

“I’ve forgotten Hedwig!” 

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on…he snatched up Hedwig’s cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon   
hammered on the unlocked door… and it crashed open. 

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle. 

Ron and George from the backseat and Fred leaning over Millicent in the front seized Harry’s arms and pulled as hard as they could. 

“Petunia,” roared Uncle Vernon. “He’s getting away! HE’S GETTING AWAY!” 

But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry’s leg slid out of Uncle Vernon’s grasp…..Harry was in the car…he’d slammed the door shut….

“Put your foot on it, Bulstrode,” yelled Fred. 

“Don’t tell me what to do Weasley,” Millicent yelled back even as the car shot suddenly toward the moon. 

Harry couldn’t believe it, he was free. He rolled down the window and yelled out the window at the dumbstruck Dursley’s, “See you next summer!”

The car roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat grinning from ear to ear. 

“Let Hedwig out,” he told Ron. “She can fly behind us. She hasn’t had a chance to stretch her wings for ages.”

George handed the hairpin to Ron, and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost. 

“Alright, Potter,” said Millicent. “Care to explain.”

Ron nodded impatiently. 

Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he’d given Harry and the fiasco of the pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished. 

“Very fishy,” said Fred finally. 

“Definitely dodgy,” agreed George. “so he wouldn’t even tell you who’s supposed to be plotting all this stuff?”

“I don’t think he could,” said Harry. “Every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall.”

He saw Fred and George look at each other.

“What, you think he was lying to me?” said Harry. 

“Well, house elves have powerful magic of their own, but they can’t usually use it without their master’s permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you   
think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?”

 

“Malfoy,” Millicent and Ron said at the same time. 

“Draco Malfoy,” said George. “Not Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

“I’ve heard Dad talking about him,” said Fred. “He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who until he disappeared and old Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d never meant any of it. Load of dung, dad reckons he was right   
in You-Know-Who’s inner circle.”

Harry had heard rumors about Malfoy’s family before, so he wasn’t surprised. 

“Draco’s family has elves, but all the old wizarding families do, you inherit them from wealthy ancestors, not that you would know anything about that,” Millicent said to Fred.

Fred instantly bristled. 

“Wasn’t your father in the ranks as well, Bulstrode?”

“Ha,” Millicent laughed. “My father’s too smart to be tied to such allegations, too bad the Malfoy’s weren’t.”

“No honor among snakes, huh?” asked Fred, but Millie just ignored him. 

“Well, whoever owns him will be an old Wizarding family and rich like Millicent said. Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing, but all we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden.”

“More siblings you haven’t mentioned?” asked Millicent sweetly. 

Fred shut his mouth, no come back for that one. 

Harry was silent. Had he been stupid to take Dobby seriously? 

“I’m glad we could get to you anyway,” said Ron. “I was getting really worried when you didn’t answer my letters, and when Bulstrode wrote saying that you hadn’t replied to any of hers. I knew we had to do something. She was at   
our house before we were even at the car.” 

“Your father’s not the only one who works in the ministry, Weasley.” 

“Yeah,” Ron said. “And here I thought it was Errol?” 

“Errol?” 

“Our owl. He’s ancient. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d collapsed on a delivery. So, then I tried to borrow Hermes…., uh, the owl mom and dad bought Percy when he made prefect, but he wouldn’t lend him to me. Said he needed   
him.”

“Percy’s been acting very oddly this summer,” said George, frowning. “And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room… I mean, there’s only so many times you can polish a   
prefect badge…”

Millicent chortled. 

“What, Bulstrode?” Fred asked. “Anything you’d like to share?” 

“I think you can figure it out,” Millicent said before Fred tapped the gauge and the two of them were arguing about being off course. 

“So, does your dad know you’ve got the car?” said Harry, guessing the answer. 

“Er, no,” said Ron, “he had to work tonight. Hopefully we’ll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it.” 

Harry thought he saw Millicent smirk again, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Are you blind, Bulstrode, that’s the road right there,” said Fred. 

“One more word, Weasley,” said Millicent, as threatening without her wand as she was with it. 

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees. They landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron’s house. 

“It’s not much,” said Ron as Harry took it all in. 

“It’s wonderful,” said Harry happily, thinking of Pivet Drive. 

They got out of the car. 

“Now, we’ll go upstairs really quickly,” said Red, “We’ll just tell Mum that he showed up in the night, no one ever need know we flew the car.”

“Right,” said Ron. Then Ron turned a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The others wheeled around. 

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger. 

“Ah,” said Fred. 

“Oh, dear,” said George. 

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips staring from one guilty face to the next. Even Millicent looked frightened. Apparently even she hadn’t seen such a sight as an angry Mrs. Weasley. 

“So,” she said. 

“Morning, Mum,” said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice. 

“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?” said Mrs. Weasley, in a deadly whisper. 

“Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to….”

“Beds empty! No note! Car gone….could have crashed…out of my mind with worry…..did you care?” All of Mrs. Weasley’s children cowered under her onslaught.

“We never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy…..”

“Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred.

“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job….just wait   
until he comes home.”

 

It seemed to go on for hours until Mrs. Weasley noticed Harry and Millicent. 

“I’m very pleased to see you, Harry dear, and you Ms. Bulstrode,”

“Call me, Millie,” Millicent said, and Harry gave her a look. She shrugged her shoulders. 

“Come in and have some breakfast, the both of you.”

She turned and walked back into the house, and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her, along with Millicent and the twins. 

Harry had never been in a wizarding house before where the clock on the wall marked where each of the family members were at any given time, and where the pans seemed to scrub themselves. 

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around the kitchen cooking haphazardly as she muttered more reprimands at her children. 

“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t   
written back to Ron on Friday. But really, flying an illegal car halfway across the country, anyone could have seen you….”

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clanging gently in the background. 

“It was cl.u…, Mum!” said Fred. 

“You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Wealsey snapped. “You’re in the presence of a lady.” 

She gave Millicent a smile and Millie smirked in Fred’s direction. 

“They were starving him, Mum!” said George. 

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, red-headed figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

“Ginny,” said Ron in an undertone to Harry. “My sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.” 

“Yeah, she’ll be wanting your autograph, Harry,” Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother’s eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. 

“Blimey, I’m tired,” yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. “I think I’ll go to bed….”

“You will not,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again….”

Harry and Millicent were excused from gnome duty, Harry opted to help out Ron while Millicent was set on making herself comfortable. She would be staying in Ginny’s room. 

“You’re staying?” said Harry. 

“Potter, I told my family that I was staying at a friend’s house for the rest of the summer so that I could come rescue your sorry butt. They all think I’m in Switzerland, if they find out I’m staying with a bunch of Weasleys they’ll   
disown me, but I feel like I need to keep an eye on you.”

“Fair enough,” said Harry, glad that she would be there to keep him company. 

By the time the gnomes surrendered, Mr. Weasley was home. They hurried through the garden and back into the house. 

Mr. Weasley was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children’s. 

“What a night,” he mumbled. “Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when my back was turned…..”

Mrs. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed. 

“Find anything, Dad?” said Fred eagerly. 

“Oh, no, you don’t…..” Mrs. Weasley said. “Your sons took out that flying death trap of yours this morning, and brought Harry home as a souvenir.”

“Harry?” said Mr. Weasley blankly. “Harry who?”

He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. 

“Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron’s told us so much about….”

“The car, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Did you really, boys?” said Mr. Weasley eagerly. “Did it go all right? I….. I mean,” he faltered as sparks flew form Mrs. Weasley’s eyes. “That….thatwas very wrong, boys,….very wrong indeed….”

“Let’s leave them to it,” Ron muttered to Harry before escorting him up the stairs and to his bedroom. 

Harry saw a snap of Millicent and Ron’s sister, Ginny, before Millicent told him to stop being so nosy and shut the door in his face. 

“It’s a bit small,” said Ron quickly. “Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I’m right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he’s always banging on the pipes and groaning.”

But Harry, grinning widely said, “This is the best house I’ve ever been in.”

Ron’s ears went pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jo, if you're reading this, call me, I have an idea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are mine, I don't own Harry Potter, I just love him.

“Letters from school,” said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. Life at the burrow was as different as possible from life on Pivet Drive and Harry loved it. 

“Dumbledore already knows you’re here, Harry….doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You two’ve got them, too,” he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pajamas. Harry noticed an extra one, that he assumed was for Millicent. 

For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their letters. Harry’s told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual on September first. There was also a list of the new books he’d need for the coming year. 

Fred who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry’s.

“You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too,” he said. “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be fan…. Bet it’s a witch.”

Another red headed Weasley walked into the room, he was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest. 

“Morning, all,” said Percy briskly. “Lovely day.”

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting, gray feather duster…at least, that was what Harry thought it was, until he saw that it was breathing. 

“Errol,” said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. “Finally, he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.” 

Ron opened the letter. “She says that she hopes you are alright, and that everything went well, and that I should get a ne….Uh, she says that she hopes I’ve had a good summer so far.” Ron continued. “She’s busy with schoolwork, and she wants to know if we want to meet in Diagon?”

“I’ve already told her, yes, Weasley, no need to send a reply,” said Millicent walking down the stairs. 

“She actually returned my owls this summer,” said Millicent pointedly to Harry. 

“Bars. On window,” Harry said, but Millicent didn’t look impressed. 

“Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,” said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. 

 

Mrs. Weasley woke them all easily the following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats, and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside. 

“We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighed. “We’ll have to buy some more today…Ah, well, guests first! After you, Millicent, love!”

“Oh, no,” Millicent said, “I think Harry needs the wake up call more than I do.”

“Not all of us can be fresh as a….,” Fred looked at Millicent. “Whatever you are….”

“Enough, Fred,” Mrs. Weasley said before, “Would you like to go first, Harry?” 

And she offered him the flowerpot. 

Harry stared at them all watching him. 

“W-what am I supposed to do?” he stammered. 

“He’s never traveled by floo Mrs. Weasley,” Millicent said. 

“Sorry, Harry, I forgot,” said Ron.

“Never?” said Mrs. Weasley. “But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?”

Harry told them that he took the underground. 

“He’ll be all right, Mum,” said Fred. “Harry, watch us first.”

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot stepped up in the fire, and threw the powder into the flame. 

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and vanished. 

Harry was up after Mr. Weasley with several warnings to speak clearly and to make sure to stop at the right gate. 

“And keep your elbows tucked in,” Ron advised. 

And keep your eyes closed. And don’t panic. Don’t fidget. 

Trying hard to keep all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of the Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder, and stepped into the fire, but immediately opened his mouth and swallowed a lot of hot ash. 

“D-Dia-gon Alley,” he coughed. 

It felt as though he had been sucked down a giant drain. His bacon sandwiches were churning within him, he closed his eyes again wishing it would stop and then….

He fell forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses snap.   
Dizzy and bruised, Harry got to his feet. From what he could see, he was in what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop, but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwart’s school list. 

The case nearby held a withered hand on the cushion, a blood stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down form the wall, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. 

The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass, and one of them was the last person Harry wanted to see, Draco Malfoy. 

Harry spotted a large black cabinet and hopped in, closing the door. 

“I thought you were going to buy me a present,” he heard Draco say. 

“I said I would buy you a racing broom,” said his father, drumming his fingers on a nearby cabinet. 

“What’s the good of that if I’m not on the house team?” said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad tempered. “Though, it doesn’t take much if Potter can do it. He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous….famous for   
having a stupid scar on his forehead….”

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls. 

“…everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar…and his….”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not, prudent, to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind   
regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear….ah, Mr. Borgin.” 

Harry didn’t pay much attention to the exchange between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Borgin until he heard Arthur Weasley’s name. 

“I have not been visited yet.” He was talking about the raids. “The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act…no   
doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it….” 

Harry felt a surge of anger. 

“And as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear…” So, that’s what Malfoy senior was doing here, trying to sell some of his dark objects, not buy some more, at least, not this time. 

“I understand, sir, of course,” said Mr. Borgin. “Let me see….”

“Can I have that?” interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion. 

“Ah, the Hand of Glory, best friend to thieves and plunderers. You son has fine taste, sir.”

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or plunderer, Borgin,” said Mr. Malfoy, coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, “No offense, sir, no offense meant….”

“Though if his grades don’t pick up,” said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still. “that may indeed be all he’s fit for.”

“It’s not my fault,” retorted Draco. “The teachers all have their favorites, that Hermione Granger….”

“I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Mr. Malfoy. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that Miss Bulstrode also had higher marks than my son.”

“Ha!” said Harry under his breath, pleased to see Draco looking both abashed and angry.

“It’s the same all over,”

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco came closer and closer to his hiding place. As Draco was right in front of him, Harry heard Mr. Malfoy say, “Done.”

Mr. Borgin retreated to a back room and the Malfoy’s left the shop. Harry waited for a minute in case he came back before quietly slipping out of the cabinet and out the shop door. 

Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. Trying to stay calm Harry wondered what to do. He saw a sign that said, Knockturn Alley, and a witch tried to ask him if he was all right. She leered at him,   
showing mostly teeth. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said. “I’m just….”

“HARRY! What d’yeh think yer doin’ down there?”

Harry’s heart leapt. So did the witch; as she cursed Hagird, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He came striding toward them, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard. 

“Hagrid!” Harry croaked in relief. “I was lost….Floo powder..”

Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them as they followed along the alleyway until they reached bright   
sunlight. 

Harry saw a familiar sight, Grignotts Bank and all its white marble. Hagrid had led them into Diagon Alley. 

“Yer a mess!” said Hagrid, gruffly, brushing soot off Harry so forcefully he nearly knocked him over. “Skukin’ around Knockturn Alley, I dunno, it’s a dodgy place, Harry, don’ wan no one ter see yeh down there….”

“I realized that, I was lost,” said Harry ducking before Hagrid could reach to brush him off again. “What were you doing down there?” 

“I was lookin’ fer Flesh-Eatin Slug Repellent,” growled Hagrid. “They’re runin’ the school cabbages. Yer not here on yer own?”

“I’m staying with the Weasleys but we got separated,” Harry explained. “I’ve got to go and find them.”

They set off down the street together. 

“How come yeh never wrote back ter me?” said Hagrid as Harry jogged to keep up. Harry explained all about Dobby and the Dursleys. 

“Lousy Muggles,” growled Hagrid. “If Id’ve known…”

“Harry! Harry! Over here!” 

Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the end of the steps that led to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her. 

“Hello, Hagrid,” She gave them both a big hug. “Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?” 

“As soon as I’ve found the Weasleys,” said Harry. 

Just then sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, George, Mr. Weasley Fred, and Millicent. 

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley panted. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far. Molly’s frantic, she’s coming now…..”

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” Millicent asked him but looked relieved that he had been found regardless. She ignored whatever Fred was going to say next in favor of saying hello to Hermione. 

“Where did you come out?” Ron asked. 

“Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly. 

“Excellent!” said Fred and George together. 

“We’ve never been allowed in,” said Ron enviously. 

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging in one hand, Ginny clinging to the other. 

“Oh, Harry, oh my dear, you could have been anywhere.”

Gasping for breath, she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bad and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid had missed. Hagrid said goodbye before Mrs. Weasley could turn the brush on him. 

“See yer at Hogwarts!”

“Goodbye, Hagrid,” Harry said, glad that he was once again among so many friends. 

“Guess who I saw at Borgin and Burkes?” said Harry as they climbed the steps to Gringotts. “Malfoy and his father.”

“Was Lucius buying anything?” said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them. 

“No, he was selling…”

“So, he is worried,” said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…”

“You’d be careful, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were allowed into the bank by a goblin. He and Mrs. Weasley had a bit of talk about the Malfoys until Mr. Weasley spotted Hermione’s parents. 

“But your muggles,” said Mr. Weasley excitedly. Heading over to introduce himself and check out their muggle money.

After finishing with their vaults, they headed back outside. 

The group split up for a while so Mrs. Weasley could buy Ginny some new robes before they agreed to meet back up at Flourish and Blotts. 

 

“We can actually meet him,” Hermione squealed. “I mean he’s written almost the whole booklist. Gilderoy Lockhart, I can’t believe it.”

“Mind yourself,” Millicent said as a witch around Mrs. Weasley’s age tried to urge everyone into a line. 

Mrs. Weasley was near the front, an excited look on her face as she patted her hair into place. “We’ll be able to see him soon.” 

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by pictures of his own face. An irritable looking man sidled Ron out of the way so that he could get a shot of the other man. 

“This is for the Daily Prophet,”

“Big deal,” said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it. 

Lockhart looked up. He saw Ron and then he saw Harry before leaping to his feet and positively shouting, “It can’t be Harry Potter?”

The crowd parted for him whispering excitedly as he made his way toward Harry pulling him to his side. 

“Nice big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his own gleamingly white teeth. “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”

When he let go, Harry tried to slide back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw his arm around him. Harry gaped even as Lockhart announced that not only was he giving Harry free copies of all of his books, but that he has had the great pleasure and pride of being the announced as Hogwarts new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. 

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being presented with Lockhart’s entire body of work. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way to the side of the room where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron. 

But before he got there, a voice Harry had no problem recognizing got in the way with the body it belonged to. “I bet you loved that Potter. Famous Harry Potter can’t even go to a bookstore without making the front page.” 

Ginny had noticed the two boys and moved toward them. 

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy intently. 

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Malfoy. Ginny started to turn scarlet before…”How dare you Potter?” And Harry felt someone slap him. “How dare you cheat on me?” 

“Blaise, what the…”

Blaise recoiled from Harry’s outstretched hand. “Don’t you touch me you filthy liar,” he said dramatically. Then, as if a switch had flipped. “Hello, Draco, how was your summer?”

“Perfectly fine, Zabini. I was just inquiring as to Potters. Though it seems as if he has been slumming a little.” 

Ginny went even more red as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books. 

“Oh, its you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. 

Malfoy clicked his tongue. “The whole family, Potter? Shame being in Slytherin hasn’t given you better taste.”

Ron’s face went as red as Ginny’s. He dropped his books into Ginny’s cauldron, along with her own, and started toward Malfoy, but Blaise stepped between them. 

“Ron!” said Mrs. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.” 

“Well, well, well… Arthur Weasley.” 

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco’s shoulder sneering in just the same way. So, that’s where he got it from, Harry thought. 

“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly. 

“Busy time at the ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All these raids, I hope they’re paying you overtime.”

He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. 

“Obviously not,” said Mr. Malfoy. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ginny or Ron. 

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said. 

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley…I thought your family could sink no lower…..”

There was a thud as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell books came thundering down on all their heads and chaos   
erupted. There was encouragement from Fred and George shouting, “Get him, Dad!” and Mrs. Weasley shrieking for Arthur to stop, a shop assistant was calling for them to stop, but the loudest one of all came from the entrance. 

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled the two men apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by a rather heavy looking book about toads. 

“I’ll take that,” Harry said reaching for Ginny’s transfiguration book still held by Mr. Malfoy. He handed it over begrudgingly as he and Draco left the shop in a huff, bumping into Percy and Millicent as they entered. 

“Yeh should’ve ignored him Arthur,” said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he tried to straighten up his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that…no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter….   
Bad blood, that’s what it is. Come on now, let’s get outta here.” 

“A fine example to set for your children… brawling in public….what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought,” Mrs. Weasley scolded as she followed her husband out the door. 

“He was pleased,” Fred insists, as Percy and Millicent finally met back up with him. 

“Are you alright?” Millicent asked Percy, Mr. Weasley apparently wasn’t the only Weasley who had a run in with a Malfoy that day. Percy shakes his head as the group leaves the shop. Harry, Millicent and the Weasleys would be   
traveling back by Floo powder. They said good-bye to the Grangers. Harry took off his glasses and tucked them safely in his pocket before helping himself to some Floo powder. It definitely wasn’t his favorite way to travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jo, if you're reading this, I have an idea.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter. This is the rest of what I was planning to post the other day, this is still going to be a weekly posting from here on out. Thank you all for reading and the kudos.

The end of summer vacation came to quickly for Harry’s liking. He was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts, but his time spent at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of what life was like back on Pivet Drive. 

Mrs. Weasley made them a wonderful last dinner, though Percy in his continuing odd behavior scampered off to bed early. They were each given some hot chocolate and sent off to bed. 

The next morning Harry realized what it was like living with a big family. While Millicent had been ready and dressed, prepared to leave, it seemed one thing after another was stopping their departure. First, Fred had forgot his Fillibuster fireworks, then Ginny didn’t have her diary, then Ron had to go to the bathroom. By the time everyone had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high. Not even Millicent was eager to poke at the Lions. 

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch then at his wife. 

“Molly, dear…”

“No, Arthur…”

“No one would see…this little button here is an Invisibility Booster. I installed it myself. Once were up in the air, no one can see us. We’d be there in ten minutes, and no one would be any wiser…”

“I said no Arthur, not in broad daylight.” 

Not in pitch black either, Harry thought. Mrs. Weasley was still upset about the fight between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. 

They reached King’s Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get some trolleys for their trunks then they were truly underway. “Percy first,” Mrs. Weasley said, looking nervously at the clock. 

Percy strode forward then vanished through the barrier. Mr. Weasley went next then Millie hopping in front of Fred and George with Ginny at her side. 

“If my sister gets sorted into Slytherin my parents are going to burst,” said Ron then quickly looking at Harry. “No offense.”

“None taken,” said Harry. “It’s not what goes on at Hogwarts that makes Slytherin evil, but what happens at home.” Even as he said it he wondered what that made him. Then, Mrs. Weasley gave him a quick smile before   
stepping toward the barrier and he felt okay again. 

“Let’s go together,” Ron said to Harry. “We’ve only got a minute.”

Harry made sure that Hedwig’s cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. 

The two boys ran confidently toward the barrier then CRASH! They were both knocked to the ground, trolleys and things strewn everywhere. Hedwig shrieked as a guard nearby yelled, “What in blazes do you think you’re doing?”

“Lost control of the trolley,” Harry said quickly. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig who was causing quite the scene. 

“Why can’t we get through?” Harry hissed to Ron. 

“I dunno….”

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them. 

“We’re going to miss the train,” Ron whispered. “I don’t understand why the gateway’s sealed itself.”

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling. 

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid. 

Three seconds….two seconds….one…. 

“It’s gone,” said Ron, sounding stunned. “The train’s left. What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?” 

Harry gave a hollow laugh. 

“The Dursleys haven’t given me pocket money for about six years.” 

Ron pressed his ear to the barrier. 

“Can’t hear a thing,” he said tensely. “What are we going to do? I don’t know how long it’ll take for Mum and Dad to get back to us. And we’re attracting a little too much attention.”

“We’d better wait at the car,” said Harry. 

“Harry,” said Ron eyes gleaming. “The car!”

“What about it?”

“We can fly to Hogwarts.”

Harry shook his head. 

“We’re stuck, right? And we’ve got to get to school, haven’t we? And I’d call this an emergency wouldn’t you, and if Bulstrode can drive it then I certainly….”

“But your Mum and Dad,” said Harry, pushing against the barrier fruitlessly. “How will they get home?”

“They’ll apparate,” said Ron like it was the easiest answer in the world. “The only bother with the Floo because we all aren’t old enough to apparate, but they’ll be fine…”

Harry’s feeling of panic turned suddenly to excitement. Is this what being a Gryffindor felt like, he wondered?

“Can you fly it?”

“No problem,” said Ron, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. “Come on, if we hurry we might be able to catch sight of the train. 

No problem, Harry thought as they made sure no one was watching and Ron hit the button. 

No problem, Harry thought as the car around them vanished. No problem, Harry thought as he felt the car rise. 

“Let’s go,” said Ron’s voice from his right. 

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose. In seconds the whole of London was beneath them. 

No problem, thought Harry until there was a popping noise and the car reappeared in the sky. 

“Uh- oh,” said Ron, and Harry knew for sure that there most definitely was a problem. Ron jabbed his hand at the Invisibility Booster. “It’s fault….”

Both of them pummeled it, and the car vanished once again. Then it flickered back. 

“Hold on!” Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator, and they shot straight into the clouds. 

“Now what?” said Harry. 

“We need to see the train to know what direction to go in,” said Ron. “There,” he said a moment later. “I can see it, right there, ahead of us.” 

Harry looked out the window and easily spotted the train. 

“Due North,” he said. 

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “We’ll just pop down every half hour or so to make sure that we’re still with it.”

It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel, in a car full of hot bright sun, candy shoved in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing   
Fred and George’s jealous faces when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the lawn. Malfoy wouldn’t be able to pick his jaw up for a month. 

“Can’t be much further still, can it?” croaked Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to turn pink on the horizon. “Ready for another check on the train?”

The engine made a funny noise. 

“Not far,” said Ron. “Not far now,” though Harry didn’t miss the nervous tone in his voice. And they both pretended not to notice the whining from the engine growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. 

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew. 

“There!” Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig squeak. “Straight ahead.”

Silhouetted on the horizon was Hogwarts castle, home. 

But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed. 

“Come on,” Ron said cajoling, giving the steering wheel a little shake, “nearly there, come on.”

The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. Harry found himself griping the edges of his seat very hard as they flew over the lake. 

The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. 

“Come on,” Ron muttered. 

They were over the lake, the castle was right ahead, and Ron put his foot down. 

There was a loud clunk, a sputter, then the engine died. Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at the dashboard, but they were still plummeting. 

“WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!” Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but it was too late. 

CRUNCH

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing up around them, Hedwig was screeching in terror, and a golf ball sized lump was   
throbbing on top of Harry’s head where it had hit the wind shield. To his right, Ron let out a groan. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked urgently. 

“My wand,” said Ron, in a shaky voice. “Look at my wand.”

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters. 

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they could fix it, but he never even got started. At that very moment, something hit the car with the force of a charging bull sending him flying into Ron. They were stuck in the   
Womping Willow. 

“Run for it,” Ron shouted, throwing his entire body weight into the door, but the next second he had been slammed back his assault stopped. 

“We’re done for!” he moaned as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating and the engine started back up. 

“Reverse,” Harry yelled and the car shot backward. The tree was still after them, it’s branches reaching out and lashing at them even as they sped out of reach. 

“Well done, car,” said Ron. The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Harry, Ron, and all their things were tossed from the car. Hedwig’s cage flew through the air   
and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle. 

“Come back,” Ron yelled at the retreating car. “Dad will kill me!” 

Ron was breathing deeply as he bent down and picked up Scabbers. 

They were lucky. The ancient tree, which was still flailing its braches threatingly seemed to be watching them. 

“Come on,” Harry said wearily. “we’d better get up to the school…”

It wasn’t the triumphant arrival he had pictured. Still, cold and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began the long walk up to the great oak doors. 

“I think the feast has already started,” said Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. “Harry, look, it’s the Sorting.”

Harry hurried over, and he and Ron peered into the Great Hall. They watched for several moments before Harry noticed something. 

“Hang on,” he muttered to Ron. “There’s an empty chair at the head table, where’s Snape?” 

If Harry hadn’t spent all last year in such close proximity to him, Harry might not have even heard the sweeping of robes that now meant someone was behind them. 

Harry and Ron hadn’t even turned around before Snape had given them their marching orders. “Follow me.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. 

Not even daring to look at each other, Harry and Ron followed behind Snape, the smell from the Great Hall taunting them as they made their way toward the dungeons. 

“In,” Snape barked as they approached Snape’s office. He had avoided this room last year, and was glad now that he did. The fireplace was dark and empty and large glass jars dotted the shelves. Snape closed the door   
and looked at them. 

Snape looked like he would rather be anywhere else. 

“An explanation, Potter?” He turned to Harry only, like Ron wasn’t even in the room. 

“It was the barrier at King’s Cross, it wouldn’t let us through.” 

Snape silenced him with a look. 

“I meant explain in a succinct way how on Earth you thought that it would be a good idea to fly a magical car to Hogwarts and then crash in to the Forbidden Forest!” Snape yelled at them. 

Ron gulped. This wasn’t the first time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he splayed a copy of the Evening Prophet onto the desk in front of them. 

“You were seen,” he hissed, showing them the headline that read, “ FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES”. He shoved the paper toward Harry. 

“Read it,” he ordered, like they were in class instead of potentially getting kicked out of school. 

Harry picked up the paper. 

“Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower at noon in Norfolk…” Harry skipped forward. “Six or seven muggles in all….”

Snape cut in. “Doesn’t your father work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?” 

Harry felt as though he’d just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree’s larger branches. He hadn’t thought of Mr. Weasley, and what trouble he could possibly get into. 

Snape looked like he was about to combust. 

“You will wait here until I can fetch Professor McGonagall to deal with you Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter I shall deal with you.”

Ten minutes later, Snape returned with Professor McGongall, and with instructions to explain, Harry and Ron set to telling her what had happened. 

“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” she said coldly to Harry. 

Well, now that someone had suggested it, Harry felt supremely stupid. 

“I… I didn’t think,” 

“That,” said Professor Snape, “is obvious.” 

There was a knock at the door then Professor Dumbledore entered the room, and Harry’s whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. Harry wondered if taking on the Womping Willow again instead of the   
three of them were an option or not. 

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, “Please explain why you did this.”

It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry was used to shouting. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had pretty well taken care of that. It would have made sense to Harry. He had done something wrong so he should be yelled   
at, denied certain meals, locked away. Those were the things that made sense to Harry, but he told Dumbledore everything, knowing what happened when he tried to lie. Still, he left out the part about who the car belonged to. He could tell Dumbledore wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t say anything. When Harry had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles. 

Harry looked at his head of house, but the man was steadfastly looking at the headmaster. 

“We’ll go and get our stuff,” said Harry in a hopeless sort of voice. 

“What are you talking about Mr. Potter?” barked Professor Snape. 

Harry straightened. He wouldn’t cry here, Millicent, at least, would never forgive him. 

“We’re being expelled, sir, it stands to reason that we should be getting our belongings.”

Ron nodded his head, apparently the same thought having gone through his head as well. 

Ron looked at Dumbledore, Harry looked at Snape. 

“Not today, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore. “But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both of your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I   
will have no choice but to expel you.”

Just when Harry thought that the punishment was over, Snape stepped forward. “And you Mr. Potter will be facing more consequences than that, I’m afraid. For now, Quidditch has been canceled.”

“Sir,”

“Mr. Potter, you have flouted the Decree for the Restricition of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree, and if it were up to me you would most certainly be expelled.” 

“But, Professor,” Ron said moving to take up for him. 

“Oh no, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said. “Mr. Potter is in Professor Snape’s house and is therefore his responsibility. You, however, are mine and will be facing some more punishments of my own making.”

Harry felt a little relived. He had lost Quidditch, but at least he didn’t have to deal with whatever creative punishment Professor McGonagall was going to cook up for Ron. 

It was better than expulsion. As for Dumbledore or even Snape’s writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly well that the most extreme emotion they would feel would be disappointment that the   
Womping Willow didn’t finish him off. 

“You will eat in your dormitories,” said Professor McGonagall. “Mr. Weasley, your sister has been sorted into Gryffindor and the rest of your family will surely be wondering about your little adventure so I’d advise you to get back to the tower.”

She ushered Ron toward the door. “And Mr. Potter, please return to the dungeon where your meal and a very perturbed Ms. Bulstrode are waiting for you.”

Harry moved to follow Ron and Professor McGonagall out of the room, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“I’d mind yourself, if I were you, Potter,” said Snape. He looked him over, before removing his hand from his shoulder. He looked disappointed, whether from Harry and Ron being allowed to stay and kind of relieved that   
he hadn’t been the one who had to make that decision in the first place. 

“Go to bed, Mr. Potter.”

And that was that. 

Harry’s reception in the Slytherin common room was a lot different than usual. He was a second year and he knew where he stood on the totem pole, and that meant that while everyone might have known his name, not   
many of the upper years or people in his year took much notice of him. That changed when he walked into the common room.

The students that were still up and it looked like more than normal, looked at him like he had sprouted another head. Some looked impressed, some looked annoyed, and some looked personally offended, but it was Millicent who shooed them all back. Her broad shoulders nudging the few out of the way who hadn’t seen her glare. 

It was a quiet sort of consciousness, sort of awe, but Harry felt more of a quick in his step until Harry saw Marcus Flint. Apparently, news traveled fast, and while McGonagall was a creative punishing genius, Snape was   
quick and deadly. 

“Less than a year, Potter, and you throw it all away because what, you wanted to impress a Weasley?” 

Harry shook his head. 

“I’m….”

“Potter, apologies mean nothing. You will come to practice and you will come to tryouts and you will assist in finding a new seeker.”

“I thought Snape said that I couldn’t fly.”

“Nonsense,” said Flint immediately. “If you have the quaffles to drive a magical car and pick a fight with the Womping Willow then I’d say not much can keep you off a broom.”

Flint clasped him on the shoulder and then turned and walked away. Did he sound impressed? Whether he did or not the look on Millie’s face let him know that she, at least, most assuredly was not.

She just shook her head, her wand waving menacingly in his direction as she directed him to the boy’s dorm. He opened the door and was immediately pulled into the room. 

“Tell us everything,” Blaise yelled. 

Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, even a slightly interested looking Draco all rallied around Harry demanding to know what exactly had happened and if the stories that had been going around the Great Hall were true or not. 

“Did you really have a run in with the centaurs?” Nott asked. 

“Of course, he didn’t,” Draco said immediately, but he didn’t look to sure about that when Harry gave him a look. 

Harry moved to his bed, and sat down, his dorm mates all around him as he set to telling them all about the magical car and the tree that tried to eat them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jo Rowling, tweet me, I have an idea. @Mitchel_chelsea


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I don't own Harry Potter, I'm just a fan. Any mistakes are mine. Jo Rowling, call me, I have an idea.

The next morning, Harry stopped by the Gryffindor table to tell Neville good morning. He made his way back to his table before the mail arrived. He tucked into his breakfast seated in between Blaise and Millicent. 

“Oh,” Blaise said as the owls left. “Looks like Weasley’s got a howler.”

“A what?” Harry asked, as Blaise wiped the orange juice off his lip and Mrs. Weasley’s voice filled the Great Hall. 

As Mrs. Weasley’s voice filled the hall, he felt bad for Ron, but mostly, he was just glad it wasn’t him. Professor McGonagall set to handing out the Gryffindor schedules, Snape having handed theirs out via their prefects before they were allowed to go to breakfast. Flint had tossed Harry’s onto the middle of his forehead before he was even conscious. 

First up, Harry had Transfiguration, then potions with the Hufflepuffs. At least that would be a laugh or two. Flint had already informed the team, well, the team and Harry that there would be tryouts coming up that weekend and that he would have to be there. Flint didn’t need to add the “or else”, Harry felt it. 

After Transfiguration where Harry had successful turned a feather into a spoon, and Millicent had turned hers into a spork they were headed to Potions. It had been fun to watch the Ravenclaws interact with McGonagall. Professor McGonagall was more of hands on teacher, where the Ravenclaws needed everything spelled out for them to the letter. For kids that smart it was a wonder they couldn’t discern her red face and annoyed expression before she had abruptly ended class. 

If Harry thought Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws had been entertaining, it had nothing on watching Snape in a room full of brightly colored Hufflepuffs. The yellow and black clad students bumbled about Snape like little butterflies even as Snape looked at them like he couldn’t wait to clip their wings to use for potions ingredients. 

Just as Snape got the Hufflepuffs settled, a knock came to the door and the dungeons were momentarily lit by Gilderoy Lockhart’s smile. 

“Ah, Professor Snape, could I borrow young Mr. Potter for a moment, please?” Lockhart begged and though Harry shook his head discretely in Snape’s direction, Snape said, “Two minutes,” before turning back to the class. Snape having noticed Harry’s panicked expression smirked slightly as he saw Lockhart’s bright smile, and Harry knew that this was just another layer of his punishment. Snape couldn’t expel him, but he could induct him in to Lockhart’s fan club. 

Harry got up and moved toward the door, ignoring Draco’s sniggering and Millie’s unusual frown. 

“Harry,” said Lockhart, his abnormally white teeth gleaming even in the dreary dungeons. “Harry, Harry, Harry.” 

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing. 

“When I heard…well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself?”

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. 

“Don’t know why I’m shocked. Flying a car into Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you’d done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry. Gave you a taste for publicity didn’t I? One front page, and you’ve caught the bug.”

“Oh, no, Professor, see…”

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. “I understand, it’s natural to want more, but see you went a little over your head. A Flying Car? There’s plenty of time for that when you’re older, more   
experienced, and I know I’m not one to talk,” He eyed the mark on Harry’s forehead. 

“See, people know you already, you know, with all that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I know, I know it isn’t quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award for the fifth time, but it’s a start, my boy, it’s a start.”

Then, he gave Harry a wink and strode off still smiling. 

Harry had never had a more surreal experience in his life, but sensing that his two minutes were quickly approaching time up, he opened the door and went back to class. 

He was chopping up asphodel root when Blaise subtlety elbowed him. Slytherins had a language all their own, one that didn’t always mean that you needed talk. It was a good thing considering most of what they said you couldn’t believe anyway. Taking the hint, Harry looked up to see a Hufflepuff boy eyeing him from the table opposite them. 

Deciding to ignore it, Harry went back to his root. The next time he looked up, the Hufflepuff who had been eyeing him was in front of him. 

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” the boy stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Harry.” 

“A pleasure,” replied Harry, while Blaise didn’t even look up, seeming to not even see the boy in front of him, but Millicent did. 

“Finished with that root, Potter? Some of us would actually like to learn this stuff.” 

“Yeah,” replied Harry. 

“And you’re Millicent Bulstrode,” the boy then offered his hand to a surprised Millicent. “You, Harry, and Granger caused quite the uproar at the feast last year.”

“Which one?” she asked. “We regularly cause quite the stir.”

Justin laughed even as she took the root and walked away ignoring his outstretched hand. 

“Bit icy that one, isn’t she?” 

“You’re not warm enough yet,” replied Blaise, apparently deciding to join the conversation. 

“What?” the boy asked. 

He looked as confused as Harry felt. 

Blaise straightened. “See Millie likes to eat her Hufflepuffs piping hot. Though, I’m not all that picky. You all taste the same anyway.”

The boy paled before backing away with a quick, “Nice to meet you, Harry.” 

Harry turned to Blaise. 

“Why did you do that?” 

“Trust me,” said Blaise. “It never pays to be nice to a Hufflepuff. Once you feed them they never leave.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend and with a sharp look from Snape no one else said a word. 

 

After lunch, and some lounging in the common room, Millicent, Blaise, and Harry set off to their last class, Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

“I’m not sure you can handle it, Harry,”

“What?” said Harry.

“Being in the same room as your idol,” Millicent replied easily. “Though it has been a few hours,”

“Ha. Ha,” Harry laughed. 

“At least he’s not the one who already had Lockhart’s entire bibliography bought before Lockhart even announced he got the job.”

Millicent blushed, but fired back. 

“Good thing, too, I would have been wait listed for those bloody things. It was wonder I could get any of those books after the Weasley crew had come and gone.” 

Blaise laughed even as Millicent shot him a pinching hex. 

“Going to have to be faster than that, Bulstrode,” said Blaise, running ahead a bit, barely avoiding another person. 

“Aw, watch out firstie,” said Blaise, as he moved around the boy. 

“Watch it, Blaise,” said Harry, as he approached the Gryffindor first year. Harry remembered him vaguely from the sorting. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry stopped near him, he   
turned bright red. 

“All right?” Harry asked. 

“Good, all right, Harry?” the boy asked. “I’m Colin, Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. “See, do you think….I mean, would it be alright, if I, could I get a picture?” 

“A picture?” Harry repeated blankly. 

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. As the boy talked a mile a minute, Harry was taken aback by how much this apparent Muggleborn knew about his life already. He had been at   
Hogwarts for a couple days, and he already knew Harry’s life history. Was there a class being taught somewhere that he didn’t know about? Regardless, the kid seemed nice enough, and all he really wanted was a photo.

“and maybe your friend could take it,” he gestured to an amused looking Millicent. “And I could stand next to you. And then, would you sign it?” 

“Signed photos, you’re giving out signed photos, Potter?”

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy’s voice echoed through the increasingly busy corridor. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle. 

“Get in line, Mil, you wouldn’t want to miss this.”

“No, I’m not,” said Harry. “But if you really wanted one, you just had to ask, Draco.” 

“You’re just jealous,” piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck. 

“Jealous,” said Malfoy, who didn’t need to shout anymore, they pretty much had everyone’s attention. “Of what? Trust me, firstie, I’ve seen just about everything Potter here has to offer, and trust me, it isn’t all that great.” 

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly behind him. 

They might have thought it was funny, but Millicent didn’t. She raised her wand. “You might want to watch out Draco, I’ve been practicing my hexes and I’m just itching for a real target.”

The three goons silenced immediately. 

“Relax, Mil, or someone might get the wrong impression….”

Millicent narrowed her gaze. 

“And what would that be, Malfoy?”

“What’s all this? What’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart said, striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos? Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Creevey, there is no need to form a line, I can get   
to everyone.”

That’s it, the man was an imbecile, but an imbecile who had remarkable timing. And behind him was Percy Weasley. 

“There you are, Colin,” Percy said, moving around Lockhart to get to the first year. 

Colin, unperturbed, flashed a quick photo of Harry before allowing Percy to cart him away as Lockhart did the same to the rest of the crowd. 

“Off you go, move along there,” Lockhart called to the rest of the crowd, and he set off toward the classroom with a reluctant Harry by his side. 

Tuning out Lockhart’s sound advice, they made it to the Defense classroom. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed to the seat where Blaise and somehow Millicent were already waiting for him. 

“How did you?” he went to ask her, but class had already started. Whatever he was going to ask Millie got lost by the wayside when Lockhart announced her perfect score on his little quiz and surprisingly Blaise’s, Malfoy   
having come close if only he had remembered Lockhart’s favorite color was lilac not plum.

Then came the pixies.

Pandemonium incarnate, the Pixie’s zipped around the room, Lockhart ducking out before they could get him as they had Goyle. 

What was Dumbledore thinking?

 

 

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry’s schedule. 

Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, “All right, Harry?” six or seven times a day and hear, “Hello, Colin,” back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it. 

He was due at the Quidditch pitch at any moment, and had somehow avoided both Colin and Lockhart. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

He grabbed one of the school brooms and walked down the hill to where he saw Flint standing in front of two groups of people, the team was on one side and the hopefuls on the other. Harry moved to stand with the   
team. 

He noticed Malfoy in the group of hopefuls, but Malfoy didn’t seem to notice anything, but Marcus. He was out to win this spot, that was for sure. 

He didn’t even look up when a voice started calling out Harry’s name. 

“Harry! Harry!” 

Harry turned and looked in the direction of the voice, and saw Colin Creevey standing up in the stands, waving his arms wildly as he shouted Harry’s name. 

“What?” Harry said, even as he gave Colin a short wave that seemed to thrill the boy to no end. 

“I thought this was a closed try-out?” Harry asked Marcus. 

“It is, but the firstie said something about wanting to watch, I didn’t listen to why. I was going to say no, but he had a camera so we made a deal.”

“What deal?” asked Harry. As annoying as Colin may be he didn’t want him owing Flint anything. 

Marcus quickly looked like he was getting tired of this conversation. 

“He gets to watch and snap some photos and I get shots of us looking great on the field.”

“Of you looking great, you mean,” Harry supplied the missing piece. Flint was graduating soon, and was looking to play Quidditch professionally and since Colin wasn’t a bad photographer that meant Flint would have   
some stuff to start pulling in scouts to watch the games. 

 

Moving to his spot beside the rest of the team, Flint started the try-outs. 

 

&&&

Harry had to admit, Draco wasn’t bad. He definitely wasn’t the worst contender, but a small Slytherin third year named Mason was giving him a run for the vacant spot. It was down to the two of them. Malfoy vs. Mason. Flint only wanted the fastest, most agile fliers on his team and had put all the would be players to the test. So far, two had been sent to Madam Pomfrey, with broken bones, one had quit from exhaustion while a few smart people walked away when they saw what was going to be asked of them. 

Harry, however, was required as ex-seeker to stay right by Marcus as he yelled and shouted directions to those to thick or too frightened to have got it the first time. By the time it was down to two, Flint’s face was red and if wearing a hole in thin air was possible then he would have done it already. Malfoy and Mason were on their last lap. They had to fly through and around the series of hoops and avoid the bludgers being tossed at them by the rest of the team all while managing not to break their necks and get to the finish line first. 

Then, Marcus let go of the snitch. 

The snitch zoomed up in the air, and fell in line in front of Malfoy and Mason. 

Harry looked at Marcus. 

“Do you want them to catch it, or do you want them to finish first?”

Marcus laughed. 

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Rolling his eyes at his soon to be former Captain, Harry looked back at the players. So far, the snitch had stayed in front of the two contenders. Both, Malfoy and Mason were keeping their eyes on the snitch, but were   
steadily racing toward the finish line. The two players went through one of the highest hoops that they had to fly upward at a high level and then basically swan dive to get through the other. After that it was a straight shot to Marcus, Harry, and the finish line. 

Mason’s eyes darted to the snitch, and he went for it. Malfoy right on his heels, kicked his leg out but missed Mason. 

“Dirty,” said Marcus, but he didn’t seem too bothered by Malfoy’s outburst. 

Then just as suddenly, Mason had caught the snitch and was hoisting it in the air like he had just solely won the House Cup at the same time that Malfoy crossed the finish line, looking far too defeated. 

Flint motioned for both of the players to take ground, while the team had gathered around Mason to check out the snitch. Malfoy stood further off, ignorant of the way Flint was watching him. 

Flint turned to Harry. 

“You know what the most important thing about a team is, Potter,” Harry shook his head, no, for once, feeling bad for Malfoy. 

“It’s the Captain,”

“Oi, Flint, what’s the problem?” 

Marcus sighed, his cheeks tinting even as he eyed Oliver Wood and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team approaching the field. Harry and Marcus landed, and Wood rounded on Marcus. 

“I don’t believe it,” Wood hissed in outrage. “I booked the field for today! This is our practice time. You can clear off now.”

Marcus rolled his eyes at the furious Gryffindor keeper. 

Flint was larger than Wood, but they both had sturdy builds. A look of cunning crossed Marcus’ face. “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood. Be a sport.”

“But I booked the field,” said Wood, positively spitting with rage, but the look on Marcus’ face looked like he was dealing with an upset kitten than a very angry keeper. 

“I booked it!” Wood repeated. “What are you even doing here, you practice on Wednesdays and this is Tuesday.”

“Try-outs,” said Marcus the same time that Colin Creevey said, “Photos.”

“Excuse me?” Wood asked. Harry put a hand forward and tried to pull Colin back as the two teams seemed to round on one another. Then recognition hit. “You have spy? You knew that we were going to have the pitch and you   
planted a little spy to snap photos of our practice.”

Marcus actually laughed.

Harry knew he was just messing with Oliver, but the rest of the people on the pitch didn’t seem to get that, especially not….

“What’s he doing here?” Ron asked, walking onto the field with Hermione Granger and Seamus Finnigan who was wearing a Gryffindor Quidditch kit. Harry gave Seamus a discreet thumbs up, and he beamed as he   
adjusted his kit. 

Apparently it was okay for Wood to talk to Marcus, but not anyone else. Turning on Ron, he replied, “Tryouts, blood traitor, since you and Potter here decided to play with the Willow instead of just each oth…..”

“Who are you calling a blood traitor, Flint?” George asked, the two teams getting closer together as tensions seemed to rise. 

“You, I think,” said Malfoy, anything to get in Flint’s good graces Harry thought. 

“Reaching for the bottom of the barrel?” Hermione asked, and Harry stifled a laugh. 

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered. 

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat. 

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something truly awful because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him. Alicia, one of the   
Gryffindor players, shrieked, “How dare you?!”, and Ron plunged his hand beneath Marcus to stick his banged up wand at Malfoy. 

A loud bang echoed around the stadium as Harry yanked Colin back. A jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand and hit him square in the stomach, sending him reeling backward onto the grass. 

“Ron!” yelled Seamus and Hermione. “Are you alright?” 

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap. 

The Slytherin team burst into laughter as the Gryffindor’s gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him, even Hermione looked squeamish. 

Harry stepped up. He wasn’t on the team anymore, it wasn’t like Flint could do anything to him, and Ron just wouldn’t stop spitting up slugs. 

“Let’s get him to Hagrid’s, it’s closer.”

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid’s hut when the front door opened. And Harry was sure that good luck didn’t exist. 

It was Gilderoy Lockhart. 

“Oh, blimey,” said Harry, pulling Ron and Hermione to the side of the hut. Harry waited until Lockhart was done pimping his wares before he motioned for them to move to Hagrid’s front door. 

Hagrid didn’t seem perturbed by Ron’s slug problem, just glad, it seemed, to have the three of them round for some tea. 

“Better out than in,” Hagrid said, patting Ron’s back as he upchucked more slugs into a bucket Hagrid had given him. 

“What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?” Harry asked, scratching Fang behind the ears. 

“Givin’ me advice on getting’ kelpies out of a well,” growled Hagrid, moving the kettle off. “Like I don’ know. An’ bangin’ on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

It wasn’t like Hagrid to speak badly about Hogwarts Professors, but if anyone, Harry understood the appeal. 

Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual. “I think you’re being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought that he was the best man for the job…”

“The only man for the job,” said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee. “An’ I mean the on’y one. Getting’ very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen ter take it on, see. They’re   
startin’ to think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now. So tell me,” said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. “Who was he tryin’ to curse?”

“Malfoy called Hermione something, I don’t know really what it meant..” said Harry. 

“He called me a mudblood,” said Hermione. 

“He didn’t?” Hagrid growled at Hermione. 

“He did, um, I’ve heard it once, last year after the last feast when we got all those points after Quirrell, but I didn’t know what it meant so I asked around.”

“I’m confused?” said Harry. 

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” gasped Ron, coming back up from the bucket. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born….you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards, like   
Malfoy’s family, who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood.” He gave a small burp and another slug came out. “I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all. Look at Neville, he’s a pure blood and he can barely stand a cauldron the right way up.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,” said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione turn a brilliant shade of magenta. 

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” said Ron, wiping his brow with a shaky hand. “It means dirty blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards are half-bloods anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d have died out a long time ago.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” said Hagrid. “Don’t need the likes of Lucius Malfoy marchin’ up ter the school. At least you’re not in trouble.” 

Harry wanted to point out that trouble was the last thing anyone was thinking about when that word was mentioned, but thought better of it. 

Harry’s thoughts were on what Hermione had said. She had heard that word before, and she knew what it meant though on the field he couldn’t remember her looking all that upset about it. Had someone called her that   
before? Was that where she had heard it from? If so, why hadn’t she said anything to him?

After Ron was well enough to walk back to the castle, and Harry and Hermione had their fill of biscuits and tea, the trio walked back up to the castle. McGonagall stopped them at the front doors. Ron was to report to the   
cleaning room to serve out the first of his detentions, and Harry, via Professor Snape, was to meet Lockhart to serve his. 

“Joy,” said Harry

The afternoon seemed to melt away and before Harry knew it, it was five minutes to eight, and he was due at Lockhart’s. He gritted his teeth and knocked. 

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him. 

“Come in, Harry, come in,” 

Shining brightly on the walls by the light of the many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them, another large pile of photographs were piled on his desk. 

“You can address the envelopes,” Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat. “This first one’s to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her, she’s a huge fan of mine….”

The minutes snailed by, but Lockhart seemed to be convinced with Harry’s mumbling, “Mmmm,” “Right” or “Yeah” every once in a while.

As the candles burn lower, Harry can only hope to get out of here before every bit of his brain turns to mush like his Professor. 

And then he heard something, something quite apart from the dying candles meeting wax and Lockhart’s ramblings. 

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom. 

“Come…come to me…let me rip you…let me tear you….”

Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on Lockhart’s ever smiling photograph. 

“What?” he said loudly.

“I know!” said Lockhart. “Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records.”

He didn’t realize how Lockhart couldn’t have heard that, it was clear as day, but with the man so obsessed with himself, it wasn’t a wonder he hadn’t noticed. 

Realizing what time it is, Harry glanced subtlety at the clock, and Lockhart exclaimed that it was time for Harry to get to bed. 

“We all need our beauty sleep, young man, even you.”

Harry walked back to the common room, ready to do just that, Lockhart had tired him out. 

As he made his way down the steps that led to the dungeons he welcomed the chill that began to form. He stepped off the last stair and moved to turn the corner when he heard them. Two people were having an argument in the corridor that led to the common room entrance. Not wanting to interrupt, Harry turned to go another way when he recognized just who the two voices belonged to.  
It was Snape and Marcus Flint. Harry ducked behind a statue, snippets of his head of house and former captain’s conversation drifting over to where he hid. 

“Okay, sir,” said Flint, before retreating footsteps left Harry alone in the corridor. 

When it was clear, Harry whispered the password to the common room, and walked in. Turns out, Snape and Flint weren’t the only fight he was going to witness tonight. 

Millicent and Malfoy were in the middle of the common room circling each other like sharks. 

“You need to pick a side, Millicent, you’ve been flirting with Potter and his little Gryffindor pets for far too long. I’m just letting you know that people are starting to talk.”

“You mean you’re talking,” she said. 

“So what? Millicent, come on, we grew up together. I know you.”

Millicent laughed. It was the laugh she used to make someone feel about as tall as an ant, and like they were about to get stepped on. 

“Malfoy, the things you know wouldn’t fill a toy cauldron. It must be true what the muggles say about blondes.”

“Come on, Mill,” Crabbe said stepping out from behind Malfoy. “What would your father say about you consorting with them?”

Millicent’s face pinched, but Crabbe didn’t seem to notice. “And it might not be important now, but what about your contract.”

Pansy Parkinson’s shriek could be heard on the moon, Harry was sure. 

“What did you just say, Vincent Crabbe?”

Crabbe, at least, had the decency to look shamed, even as several of the other Slytherin girls turned and glared at him. 

Malfoy stepped forward, attempting to take some of the heat off of Crabbe, but for what, Harry didn’t know. 

“Just think wisely before you do something that will put you firmly on the other side of the line,” said Malfoy.

And with that, Millicent turned on her heels and walked away, not even glancing at Harry. 

Harry went and got ready, before sneaking back out into the common room. He just wanted to make sure that she was alright, but when he opened the door, Millicent was already there. She was facing one of the couches in front of the fire, her face cast downward as she looked at the flames. It didn’t look like she was waiting for him, it didn’t look like she was doing anything, just thinking. 

“Mill?” said Harry.

She turned and Harry was glad that she didn’t look like she had been crying or anything

“He didn’t mean you and me, you know?”

“What?” asked Harry.

“The other day in the hall, with the firstie, Malfoy said something about you and me, and how things looked. He didn’t mean you and me, he meant me and her…Granger and your other little Gryffindors, but specifically   
her.”

“You know what happened today?” It wasn’t a question, but Millicent answered anyway. 

“Things aren’t what you think they are here, Harry. This may be a new generation, and I may seem different, but I’ve been taught from an early age that people like Hermione, mud…..muggleborns, that they are an abomination to   
the magical world.”

“What?” asked Harry. “, but you two get along so well.”

“We do, but there are times when I have to stop myself from calling Hermione exactly what Draco called her today. I don’t though, I stop myself, but Harry, it’s been ingrained in us.”

“Is that what you and Malfoy were fighting about?” 

“Yes,” said Millicent then she stood and went off to bed. 

Harry realized then that Malfoy hadn’t been suggesting that Millicent had a crush on him, but that she was joining his side. The side that consorted with blood traitors like the Weasley’s and “abominations” like Hermione   
Granger. 

Draco had a clear idea of what made a Slytherin and so far Harry wasn’t it. But, was Millicent? Had their outing last year, in finding the stone and taking on Quirrell, had those things changed who Millicent was supposed to be? Was she still Slytherin enough?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week is Thanksgiving so here's an extra one. Thanks for reading and the kudos. I hope you like this story. I don't own Harry James Potter. I just love him. Jo, tweet me, I have an idea. Mitchel_chelsea.

When Millicent entered the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, Draco stood, eyes glued to her. Harry was sitting beside Blaise a seat next to him empty where Millicent usually sat, but she wasn’t looking at them. 

Steeling herself, Millicent looked Draco Malfoy dead in the eye and walked over to sit at the Gryffindor table, pushing Dean Thomas out of the way so that she could have the seat directly beside Hermione Granger.   
Draco huffed, sitting back down, but he didn’t look away from her, his expression a mix of disappointment and fury. Deciding, alright then, Harry too, stood from the table and made his way over to the now cheering Gryffindors. All of the Gryffindors greeted him cheerfully even as Millicent looked like she wanted to slaughter them all for bringing this much attention to her. The line had been drawn and Millicent was now firmly on the other side. 

Harry didn’t expect Blaise to follow. Blaise owed nothing to the Weasley’s or Hermione, and as much as it would have been nice for him to join them, Blaise was smart enough to pick his own battles. What that said about Harry, he didn’t know.

 

&&&

 

“What’s wrong?” Millie asked immediately after breakfast was vanished. 

“Nothing,” replied Harry. They had all had a pleasant if a little tense breakfast and Harry hoped that everything else would settle itself. 

Millicent sighed.

“I was asking the tiniest red head not you, Potter, please pay attention.” 

Ginny looked fine as far as he could tell. Maybe a little pale, but all the Weasley’s were pretty fair skinned. Harry was going to say as much, but before he got the chance Millicent was carting Ginny off toward the bathroom or at least, that’s where she said they were headed, Hermione joining in behind them. 

Fred watched them go. “I don’t trust that girl,” he said. Ron rolled his eyes, but it was Percy who took the biggest offence. 

“Why?” he asked Fred. “Because she’s different than you? Because she’s a Slytherin or because she’s fat?” 

“Oi!” said Fred. “Your way off the pitch with that one Perfect Percy. For your information, I don’t care what she looks like or what house she’s in….”

“So you don’t like her because, what, she’s smarter than you? I mean, it’s not hard to get marks higher than yours Freddie.”

“What?” asked an outraged Fred. “At least people like me, Percy.”

“Fred,” George warned. Fred shook off George’s hand. “No, we’ve all been walking on dragon shells around King Percy all summer, it’s about time someone told him the truth. You’re our brother Percy, we’re not your peasants.” 

Percy stood and turned on them, a fierce look in his eyes. “Well, maybe I don’t want that title anymore.” And with that, Percy strode off leaving three very upset non-brothers behind him. 

 

With flag planted firmly on planet Granger, Millicent had somehow convinced Harry and Blaise to be her dates to something called a “Deathday Party.” Ron and Hermione had extended the invitation and in pure Slytherin   
fashion, Harry had been forced to dress to the nines. Blaise was in a smart set of dark blue dress robes and Millicent was wearing what she described as not her best dress, but plenty fancy for a group of Gryffindor’s, dress. 

The pair were instructing him about proper party protocol when he heard it. 

“rip….tear….kill….”  
It was the same voice. The same murderous, cold voice he had heard in Lockhart’s office. Harry stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly 

lit passageway, but he couldn’t see anything. 

“Potter, what are you….”

He hadn’t told them. There hadn’t been any time. 

“A voice!” he said. “Can you hear it?” 

Blaise and Millicent seemed to listen intently, but each shook their head no. 

“…too hungry… for so long….”

“Listen!” Harry said urgently, and the two Slytherins stopped in their tracks. 

“…kill…time to kill….”

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away, moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he tried to follow the voice. 

“This way,” he shouted, and he began to run up the stairs, into the entrance hall. Knowing he couldn’t hear in this location, he sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Millicent and Blaise behind him. 

“Harry, what are you…”

“SHHHH!”

Harry strained to hear. 

“I smell blood….I SMELL BLOOD!!” It was the voice. 

His stomach lurched. 

“It’s going to kill someone!” he shouted, and ignoring his friends bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps…

“Look,” said Blaise.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches. 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

 

“We need to go,” said Millicent even as Harry almost slipped in a puddle of water that had collected on the stone floors. 

“What’s that?” said Blaise, but they all saw what it was. Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat. 

“Come on, Harry,” Millicent urged. “We don’t want to be caught here when…”

But it was too late. 

From both sides of the corridor hundreds of feet were heard approaching and they were stuck in the middle with a bloody message and a dead cat. 

It was quiet, people whispering or in shock. 

Then someone shouted through the quiet,

“Enemies of the heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

It was Draco. He had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat and the three of them standing there, shocked, silent,   
and looking extremely guilty. 

“What’s going on? What’s going on?”

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy’s shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror. 

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieked. And his popping eyes fell on the three of them standing the closest to the hanging cat. 

“You!” he screeched at them. “You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her. I’ll kill you! I’ll….”

“Argus,”

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Blaise, and Millicent and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket. 

“Come with me, Argus,” he said to Filch. “You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Zabini, and Ms. Bulstrode.”

Lockhart who had appeared with the rest of the teachers stepped forward eagerly. 

“My office is nearest, Headmaster, just upstairs, please feel free….”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” said Dumbledore. 

The crowd parted to let them past, Lockhart looking excited and important, Dumbledore, Snape, and Professor McGonagall following along behind them. 

Once inside the office, Lockhart said, “It was definitely a curse that killed her, probably the Transmogrifan Torture. I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn’t there. I know the very countercurse that would have   
saved her….”

His words were punctuated by Filch’s uncontrollable sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. As much as he might not have liked Filch, Harry couldn’t help feeling   
a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, then he would be expelled for sure. This was more than his second strike. 

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but nothing happened. 

Lockhart continued his rambling, but no one was paying him any attention, they were all looking at Dumbledore. 

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” he said softly to the crying man. 

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented. 

“Not dead!” choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. “But why’s she all, stiff and frozen?” 

“She has been petrified,” said Dumbledore. Lockhart seemed to vehemently agree with this assessment. “But how,” Dumbledore continued. “I can not say.”

“Ask them!” shrieked Filch, turning his fury on the three of them. 

“No second year could have done this,” said Dumbledore firmly. “It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced….”

“They did it, they did it, Slytherin….”

“Enough,” Professor Snape proclaimed severely in the direction of Mr. Filch. Then turning to Professor Dumbledore. “If I might speak, Headmaster, it may be that Misters Potter and Zabini and Ms. Bulstrode were just in the wrong   
place at the wrong time.”

“Then why were they there in the first place?” Filch argued. “Why weren’t they all at the feast?”

And just when Harry thought that Snape was on their side, he said, “Yes, those are good questions indeed.”

Millicent stepped forward, apparently unperturbed by their current situation. “We were invited to the Deathday Party,”

Snape cut her off. “Then why not join the feast afterward? Why go up that particular corridor?”

“Because, because,” Harry said, his heart thumping very fast. What could he really say? I was chasing a bodiless voice and the others were chasing me? 

“, because we were tired and wanted to go to bed,” he finished lamely.

“Without any supper?” said Snape. “I didn’t think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.”

“We had some studying that we needed to get done. We felt that our educations were more important than our stomachs, sir,” said Blaise. 

Snape smiled nastily at Blaise’s clear attempt at butt kissing. 

Filch stood up. “My cat has been petrified. I deserve to see some punishment!” 

“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore patiently. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs.   
Norris.”

“I’ll make it,” Lockhart blurted in, obviously not content to merely listen to the conversation. “I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep….”

“Excuse me,” said Snape icily. “But I believe I am the Potions master at this school” 

There was a very awkward pause, as Lockhart realized that he clearly wasn’t winning this one. 

“You may go,” Dumbledore said to the three of them. 

They went as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart’s office, Millicent pulled them into an empty classroom. 

“Do you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?” 

“Absolutely not,” Millie and Blaise said in unison. “I’m not sure about where you grew up, Potter, but hearing voices isn’t a normal thing, even in the Wizarding World.”

“Besides,” said Blaise. “only you heard that voice.”

“You don’t believe me,” Harry said incredulously. 

“Of course, we do,” Millicent said and Blaise nodded. “But how many other people do you think will?”

“I know it’s weird,” said Harry. “The whole thing’s weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened…..What’s that supposed to mean?”

Millicent and Blaise exchanged a look, one that Harry knew meant more than just a look. 

 

&&&

 

Harry had never seen so many people in the Slytherin common room. “Professor Binns only told you part of the story,” said Adrian Pucey as they all gathered around the fireplace to hear better. 

Millicent had went to the library earlier but every copy of Hogwarts: A History had already been checked out. Harry asked her what the big deal was, and was promptly informed that Hogwarts: A History held some information about the Chamber of Secrets. 

Ron and Hermione had told Harry that they believed him, and for some reason he believed them more than when Millicent and Blaise told him the same thing. In turn, they told him what Professor Binns had been   
mentioning to overeager students all day. 

Though, he fervently held the story to be nothing more than a myth, he started from the beginning. He started with the founders. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built the castle together far from pyring Muggle eyes during a time when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered persecution at their hands. 

For a few years, the founders worked in harmony, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was serious arguments on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Adrian Pucey’s voice filled the room. 

“People say that is merely legend, but rumor has it that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle which he never told the other founders about. Slytherin having apparently sealed the Chamber of Secrets up, not to be opened again until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber and unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all those who are unworthy to study magic.”

“And we all know who that is,” Malfoy butt in, but Pucey held up his hand, not finished. “The school has been checked hundreds of times, of course, but no one has been able to find the Chamber or discover the beast that lurks within.”

“But the reason they couldn’t find the Chamber is obvious,” Pucey began to move about the room. “The Chamber was waiting. No one but the heir could possibly open it. Logic and our family’s stories might lend more of hint to who the heir is than anything.”

“Someone with magical parents, someone who’s family reaches back ages,” He looked at Malfoy then, but a few others were looking at other people in the room, some people were even looking at him. 

“Maybe one of the Sacred?” Pucey offered, but stopped when he reached Harry. “Or maybe someone else entirely.”

Then the light from the fireplace flickered out and several screams went up before Terrance Higgs and Marcus Flint’s laughter was heard. The fireplace resumed it’s flame, and everyone dispersed. Harry wasn’t sure if he believed in the Chamber or not, but he didn’t need to believe in the voice, he knew that was real. 

 

He saw Colin later that week, and gave him a brave wave, though Harry had heard the rumors that were going on about him, and knew that the little Gryffindor must have been hearing them too. 

When they entered the Great Hall, Millicent made her way over to check on Ginny Weasley. The poor girl had been extremely upset after seeing the three of them in the hall that night, and had been concerned ever since that they were going to be expelled. And while she might not have cared too much for Blaise, she knew Harry as Ron’s friend, and was quickly growing attached to Millicent, to Fred’s chagrin. 

After breakfast, Millicent broke off to walk with Ginny to her next class, and Blaise said he was due for a quick kip. Harry told him he was pretty enough, but Blaise was insistent. “If only you knew how trying you were on   
the nerves, Potter,” he said, as he left Harry in the hall. 

Someone bumped into his shoulder, and he didn’t need to turn to see who it was. 

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in tow like always now faced him. The night Harry had overheard Snape and Flint in the hallway was the same night that Malfoy had become Slytherin’s new seeker. Tomorrow was their first game, and Flint had kept the team busy in practice all week. 

“Check out the new brooms, Potter?” Crabbe asked. “Oh, wait, I forgot you’re not on the team anymore.”

“What are you talking about, Crabbe?” asked Harry. 

Malfoy shook his head. “It’s no use to gloat with people like Potter,” said Malfoy. “Let’s go,” He went to walk away, but Crabbe seemed intent to taunt Harry. “The new brooms Draco’s father bought the Slytherin team. Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones,” Crabbe gloated, his crooked teeth something truly spectacular to behold. 

“I said, let’s go,” Malfoy repeated, tugging at Crabbe’s shoulder. 

“What’s your problem, Draco?” Crabbed asked him. 

Harry laughed. So, that’s what Flint and Snape had been talking about. It was clear to Harry then. 

“What’s so funny, Potter?” Draco asked. 

“You,” Harry answered easily. 

Draco’s hand moved for his wand. 

“He was going to pick you, you know,” said Harry. 

Malfoy looked confused. 

“Who? Flint?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, still giggling slightly. 

“He liked that you followed directions. You weren’t distracted by the snitch, you listened to your Captain. You didn’t have to get Daddy to buy your way on to the team.”

“That’s not what happened!” Draco shouted. It was the closest Harry had ever seen to Draco losing his composure. 

“Sure, it isn’t. Your pathetic, Malfoy,” said Harry. 

“But you know what the worst part is Malfoy? It’s not your elitism or your attitude or the fact that you would rather buy your way onto the team instead of work for it, but….you’re a good flier, better than most and even if Daddy   
hadn’t bought new broomsticks for the team, you still would have gotten the spot.”

Malfoy’s face went paler than Harry thought possible. 

“Flint was going to pick you because he thought you would be the most trainable. He thought you could be great.”

Malfoy’s head snapped up.

“I still can be.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “, but you don’t have your team’s respect anymore. 

Then Harry walked away, he had nothing left to say. 

 

Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match before remembering that he wasn’t playing. As eleven o’clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. 

As they players walked onto the pitch, Harry cheered them on with the rest of the school. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary though when they turned away, Harry could have sworn he saw Flint smirk. 

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three….two….one…”

With a roar from the crowd to speed the players upward, the fourteen players rose into the sky. Malfoy instantly rose above all of them, searching desperately for the snitch. 

Malfoy most always acted like he was above everyone else, but today, he had something to prove. 

A little while in and Slytherin was leading sixty points to zero. The people around him were clapping appropriately, but clearly excited, even as the Gryffindors roared and cheered anytime one of their players got the ball. 

Even Millicent was looking happy to be here, keeping a very active eye on the unfolding game. 

The new Slytherin brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Draco out of the air. Seamus was doing a great job as one of the chasers. One of the other players had moved into the seeker position, Harry couldn’t remember her name, but so far she was doing fair. 

Several people were watching her, but he had his eyes on Malfoy. The rain was falling more heavily now, but Harry noticed something was off with the Bludger. It was zigging and zagging like it was supposed to do, but it seemed especially interested in Malfoy. Draco climbed higher and higher seemingly intent on losing the Bludger. He was demonstrating some pretty spectacular flying skills, swooping and flying high above the stadium. 

It was then that Harry saw the snitch, the seeker in him clearly not aware that he was no longer a player. A whistling in the air let Harry know that the Bludger had just barely missed Malfoy once again. Then, in an instant   
it hit Malfoy’s broom. For an agonizing moment, Draco hung in mid-air. Draco grabbed for the snitch, desperate to prove himself to a team that was barely paying attention. Few people in the stadium realized what was going on, though it seemed a few people in the teacher’s stand did. 

Oliver Wood got the quaffle, and was zooming his way through the sky to make it to the other team’s goal, unfortunately Draco was in his way. As Draco made one last grab for the snitch, having regained control of his broom, the two crashed into each other. And they both were falling. 

Through the haze of the rain, Harry could barely see the Bludger coming for Malfoy again. It hit the two where they were connected, the sound of crunching bones echoing loudly. Someone shot a spell, but with a splattering thud they hit the ground. Looking at the ground, Malfoy’s arm was hanging at an odd angle, and Oliver Wood was passed out on the ground, being taken care of by a concerned looking Madam Hooch. Malfoy was on the ground and Marcus was looking toward Harry like if he didn’t have his kit on underneath his robes then Marcus was going to throttle him. 

Marcus ignored Malfoy’s whining and headed straight for Wood. Then Lockhart was on the field. When he tried to approach Wood, Marcus gave him such a look Harry was surprised that the Defense Professor didn’t run off the pitch instead he turned to Malfoy. No one had won the game, but Lockhart was set on making things better. 

Dumbledore couldn’t stop him. He muttered a spell, but instead of mending Draco’s arm, he had removed all of his bones instead. 

Both Oliver Wood and Draco had wound up in the hospital after the match. Wood was sedated, he only needed some sleep after he had been seen and taken care of by Madam Pomfrey. Draco, on the other hand, had to be kept awake all night so Madam Pomfrey could feed him Skele-gro every hour on the hour. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had been going on for days since Mrs. Norris had been found and Harry was convinced that he knew something that he wasn’t saying. Millicent, too, had her suspicions. 

That meant Harry had about fifty-seven minutes until Madame Pomfrey stuck her head out of her office to administer him another dose. It was time to find out what Malfoy knew. 

Harry opened the doors, cloak in place. Oliver Wood was lying peacefully in his bed, but Malfoy was wide awake, using his wand to scratch at a place on his back. 

Harry walked up behind him and placed on hand over his mouth while he removed the cloak with the other so Draco wouldn’t see it. Draco’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his squeak only muffled by Harry’s mouth. 

Harry made a zipping motion across his mouth, and only when Draco nodded did Harry remove his hand. 

“Madam Pomfrey!!!” Draco shouted immediately. 

“I already cast a privacy spell, Malfoy,”

Draco looked momentarily defeated. 

“Fine, then, I’ll just go and get her myself.”

Harry stood back and watched Draco try and fail to rise from the bed. 

Settling himself back onto the bed, Draco said, “I’m more comfortable here anyway.”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“What do you want, Potter?”

“I want to know what you know about the Chamber of Secrets. Something’s going on, and I think you know about it.”

“Ha, like I’d tell you anything, Potter,” Draco said in that all important way he spoke when he knew an answer in potions. He was sure that he wasn’t going to tell Harry, but Harry wasn’t sure that he actually knew   
anything at all. 

“Fine,” Harry said, turning toward the door. “I told Millicent you could never be the heir?”

It was a beat. 

“And why not, Potter? Like your special? Between the two of us, I would be more likely to be the heir.”

Harry gave him a cocky look.

“Think so?” 

Draco’s face fell. 

Harry moved toward the door. 

“Wait,”

Harry didn’t turn, keeping his back to the other boy. 

“Just think about it, Potter,” Draco said. Harry turned around. Draco gave him a look. “Seriously Potter? Just think about it.”

“If my family were in the direct line of Salazar Slytherin, don’t you think I would have said something before this? Not to mention my father. He would have demanded it be my middle name.”

“Draco ‘heir of Slytherin’ Malfoy, catchy,” Harry quipped, but he knew Draco was telling the truth.   
Harry walked toward the door, he had gotten what he needed. 

“Wait, I told you, now you tell me. Are you the heir or not?” 

Harry smirked. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Leaving a frustrated Malfoy in bed to take yet another dose of Skele-gro, Harry opened the door and ran head first into Percy Weasley. 

“Potter!” Percy exclaimed. Then quieter, “What are you doing here?” Harry went to answer, but stopped. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead. Percy flustered. It was late, past hours for even prefects, so just why was Percy Weasley out of bed? Undeterred by someone Harry’s size, Percy bucked up. 

“Prefect business, Potter, none of your concern.” Getting a better look at him. Harry could see that beneath all the prostrating Percy looked worn. He was paler than normal, his eyes were rimmed red and his hands were   
shaky. Vaguely, Harry remembered that Wood and Percy were in the same year. 

“He’s asleep,” Harry said, surprising Percy. “I’ve just been to visit my roommate, see if he needed anything,” Harry lied. 

“Now, that is none of my concern,” said Percy. Harry blushed. Why would Percy ever think….

Before Percy could say anything else, Harry moved to leave. He got a few steps before. 

“Everyone else will be here in the morning, George and Fred and the rest of the team. Needless to say that I wouldn’t be welcome.” 

“But aren’t you two dorm mates?” asked Harry. Percy gave a quick jerk of his head. “Oliver and I, we’re different. I’m different, an outcast in my family, too serious for my friends. It was fine until Fred and George made the team, when Oliver was just my dorm mate instead of their Captain.”

“You could try,” said Harry. ‘I’m sure you could make up with Fred.” Harry offered, if that was the problem. 

Percy rolled his eyes. “It would never work, Potter, we’re just too…”

“Different,” Harry finished. 

Then realizing himself, Percy straightened his robes. 

“You have five minutes to get back to the dungeons, Potter, or it will be ten points from Slytherin.” 

Harry took the hint and left Percy standing, staring longingly at the infirmary doors. Harry was nearing the common room entrance when he felt something land on his back, hard. 

“Get off!” he said loudly, and then, “Dobby!” 

Harry looked over his shoulder. The house elf’s goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose. 

“Harry Potter came back to school,” he whispered miserably. “Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn’t you heed Dobby? Why didn’t Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?”

Harry heaved himself up and helped Dobby off his back. 

“Dobby,” he said trying not to wake anyone. “How did you know I missed the train?”

Dobby’s lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion. “It was you,” he said slowly. “You stopped the barrier from letting us through.”

“Indeed yes, sir,” said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flying. “Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward” he showed Harry ten long, bandaged   
fingers…” but Dobby didn’t care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!” 

He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head. 

“Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master’s dinner burn! Suck a flogging Dobby never had, sir…” 

Harry was angry, but he bit his fist. Dobby was as shaken by his silence as he was if Harry had yelled at him. He was crying. He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic, that Harry felt   
his anger ebb away in spite of himself. 

“Why’d you wear that thing, Dobby?” he asked curiously. 

“This, sir?” said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. “Tis a mark of the house elf’s enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for   
then he would be free to leave their house forever.”

Dobby wiped his eyes, and said suddenly, “Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make Harry Potter go home, but Dobby didn’t know that Harry Potter no longer played.”

“Your Bludger?” said Harry, anger rising once more. “That Bludger could have killed me if I had been playing Dobby and it seriously wounded two people.”

Dobby moved to bang his head against the wall. 

“Dobby wanted to save Harry Potter’s life! Better sent home, grievously injured than to remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter to be hurt bad enough to be sent back home!” 

“Oh, is that all?” said Harry angrily.

“Yes, sir, you cannot sleep in these dungeons any longer, sir.”

“And I don’t suppose you want to tell me why you wanted to send me home in pieces?”

“Ah,” Dobby groaned. “If Harry Potter only knew.” Then more tears dripped onto the ragged pillowcase. “If he knew what he means to us, the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when   
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,” he admitted, and Harry’s heart lurched for him. He knew what that felt like, too. 

“But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone   
like a beacon of hope….And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, perhaps are already happening, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, not that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more…” 

Harry knew that there was a Chamber, if anyone would know it was his fellow Slytherins, but this just confirmed it further. There was a Chamber of Secrets, and Dobby knew something about it. 

Dobby looked like he was searching for something to bang his head against. 

“Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of Dobby,” stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. “Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen….go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry   
Potter must not meddle in this, sir,” 

“Dobby, I need you tell me everything that you know.”

“Dobby can’t, sir, Dobby can’t,” Then the elf’s ears perked up, and Harry heard it too. Someone was coming, and as Dobby disappeared with a crack, Harry ducked behind one of the statues in the Slytherin corridor in enough time   
to see Snape walking past at a breakneck speed. 

Something had happened, but Harry used the opportunity to get back to the common room. It wasn’t until the morning that Harry heard what had happened to Colin. He had been petrified, and the cure still wasn’t ready, yet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I appreciate all the kudos and views. Jo, if you are reading this, call me, I have an idea.

Millicent and Harry walked to the Great Hall. 

“A protection amulet? Can you believe the naivety of Gryffindor’s? They’ll buy anything,” said Millicent after seeing what new trinket Neville had recently acquired. 

“Look, Harry,” Ron called as soon as they stepped into the Great Hall. “They’re starting a Dueling Club.” 

“Yeah,” said Seamus. “The first meetings tonight. I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one day…”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” said Ron, but he, too, seemed interested. 

“Could be useful,” he said to Harry and Millicent. “Do you want to check it out?” he asked, trying not to sound as excited as he felt. 

Surprisingly, Millicent was all for it, and after mentioning it to Hermione, she too was on board. At eight o’clock that evening they all hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and most of the school seemed to be packed in, all carrying their wands and looking excited. 

“I wonder who will be teaching us?” said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young….maybe it will be him.”

Harry didn’t care as long as it wasn’t….

Gilderoy Lockhart walked into the room and up onto the stage, resplendent in his robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black. 

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!” 

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions, for full details,   
please see my published works….”

Then, “Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little but about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry, you’ll still have your Potions Master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

“Woulnd’t it be good if they finished each other off?” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear. 

Snape’s upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he’d have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape just jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them. 

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

Harry wasn’t so sure about that. 

“One, two, three….”

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried, “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet; He flew   
backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. 

Some of the students cheered, but Harry didn’t dare, not with Millicent and her sharp elbows so near his side. 

Hermione was dancing on tiptoes, “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers. 

“Who cares?” Ron said. 

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end. 

“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm, as you see, I’ve lost my wand, ah, thank you, Miss Brown, yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor   
Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy, however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…”

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, he said, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me….”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with that Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first. Harry nudged toward Millicent though he   
wasn’t sure how smart that was. He had heard something around the upper years about finally getting to put some of their at home practice to use, and Harry wondered just how much “practice” Millicent and his other housemates had prior to this. 

“Potter. Malfoy,” Snape called. And before Harry knew it, the two of them were on stage. 

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart. “And bow.”

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other. 

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to Disarm your opponent, only to disarm them, we don’t want any accidents, one…two…three…..”

Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on “two”: His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he’d been hit over his head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be   
working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, “Rictusempra!”

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing. 

“I said disarm only,” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees. Harry had hit him with a tickling charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung back,   
with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but before he could cover for this mistake, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s knees choked, “Tarantallegra!” and the next second Harry’s legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quick step.

“Stop!” Lockhart screamed, but it was Snape who cast, “Finite Incantatem!”  
Instantly, Malfoy stopped laughing and they were both able to look up. 

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen face Seamus, apologizing for whatever his messed up wand had   
done; but Hermione and Millicent were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor, Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult; She was a lot bigger than he was, but once the scene cleared and she could think about just who she had in a headlock, Millicent loosened her grip. 

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you go, Macmillan. Careful there, just pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second. I have an idea. Let’s learn how to block unfriendly spells.”

“Mr. Potter, I think you would be an excellent,” Lockhart announced at the same time that Snape called, “Malfoy.”

Lockhart smiled, gesturing for Draco and Harry to move into the middle of the hall, the crowd parted to give them room. 

“Now, Harry,” said Lockhart, “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up again. Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something   
in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously, for once he wanted Snape’s help instead of anyone else’s. 

“Professor,” said Harry to Lockhart. “Could you show me that blocking thing again?”

“Scared?” interrupted Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn’t hear him. 

“You wish,” said Harry loudly. 

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry! You’re a natural.”

“What, drop my wand?” said Harry. 

But Lockhart wasn’t listening. 

“Three, two, one, go!” he shouted. 

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “Serpensortia!”

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. 

“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it….” 

“Allow me,” Lockhart said, ever the show off. He brandished his wand at the snake. A loud bang followed, but instead of the snake vanishing it flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, and hissing, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, posited to strike. 

Harry wasn’t sure what made him do it. Part of him wanted to congratulate the snake on it’s taste, but the look on Justin’s face stopped him. “Leave him alone!” Harry shouted at the snake. And miraculously,   
inexplicably, the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, it’s eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained. 

He looked to Justin, only to aware of how the Hufflepuff would be staring at him in admiration, but he didn’t look relieved or grateful at all, he looked angry and terrified. 

“What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall. 

Snape stepped forward an odd look on his face, waved his wand, and the snake vanished. Snape looked at Harry, in a shrewd, calculating and almost confused sort of way. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes. 

“Come on,” said Millicent’s voice in his ear. “Move….COME ON!” she stage whispered, but there was no playing here. 

Millicent steered him out of the hall, Hermione and Ron hurried along beside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. 

Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on, but it seemed Millicent had one. Millicent ushered them into an empty classroom. 

“You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Ron. 

“I’m a what?” said Harry. 

“A Parslemouth!” said Ron. “You can talk to snakes!”

“I know,” said Harry. “I mean, that’s only the second time I’ve ever done it. I accidently set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once, long story, but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort   
of set it free without meaning to, that was before I knew it was a wizard….”

“Your babbling, Potter,” said Millicent. 

“What’s the big deal? I’m sure loads of people here can do it.”

“Oh, no they can’t,” said Ron. “It’s not a very common gift, Harry, this is bad.”

“What’s bad?” said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack that pompous Hufflepuff…”

“Oh, that’s what you said to it?”

“What’d you mean? You were there, you heard me….”

“We heard you speaking Parseltongue,” said Millicent. “Snake language,” clarified Ron. “You could have been saying anything, no wonder that bloke panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or   
something, it was creepy, you know…”

Harry gaped at him. 

“I spoke a different language? But I didn’t realize, how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?”

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn’t see what was so terrible. 

“Look, Harry, the reason everyone is a little unsettled is because of the person everyone knew who was also a parselmouth.”

“Who?” asked Harry, though he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. 

“Salazar Slytherin,” answered Millicent. “That’s the reason our house symbol is the serpent.” 

Harry’s mouth fell open. 

“Exactly,” said Ron. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great grandson or something….”

“But I’m not,” said Harry, with a panic he couldn’t quite explain. 

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”

Harry lied awake for hours that night. Was it true? That Hufflepuff had been annoying, but he was sure that he was telling the snake to stop, no matter what it looked like. Could he be a descendant of Salazar   
Slytherin? He didn’t know anything about his father’s family after all. And the Dursley’s never told him anything about his mother or father. 

Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue, but the words wouldn’t come. Perhaps he had to be face to face with a snake to do it. 

Harry turned over. He’d see Justin tomorrow in Herbology and he’d explain everything. He just needed a chance. 

Then the green light that normally filled his common room filtered in through his curtains and he saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s faces fit through his curtains staring down at him and Harry had never been so terrified. 

“Is that a night gown?” Harry asked Malfoy immediately. He was wearing a pure white silk night shirt that looked startlingly similar to something his Aunt Petunia owned. 

Draco snarled. “The day I ask for your fashion advice, Potter, is the day Longbottom and I become chummy.”

“Whatever,” said Harry, sitting up in his bed. “What is it that you want, Malfoy, I thought our slumber party was scheduled for next week.” 

“Hardy Har-Har,” said Malfoy, but Goyle looked to be suppressing a giggle. Harry got out of bed, grateful for the space. Blaise’s steady snoring was no longer coming from his bed which meant he was also   
awake, but didn’t feel the need to come out which meant at least, Draco’s visit wasn’t a nefarious one. 

“What do you want, Draco? It has to be important if you’re missing out on your beauty sleep.” 

Malfoy balked. “Don’t fool yourself, Potter, we both know I’m not the one who needs beauty sleep.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Did you have a reason to wake me up or did you just want to insult me because if the latter, you really could have waited until the morning.” Looking at Draco now, he could see he was also wearing white silk sleep   
pants and that his hair had been brushed out of it’s normal gelled look. 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Draco mumbled.

“What?” 

“It wasn’t my idea, the snake. Snape said that curse would make your whole body twist up, your legs, arms, and eyes. He said it would make it easier to beat you, and I thought it would be funny.” 

“And no one thought you were going to direct it at that Hufflepuff,” said Crabbe. 

“Justin,” Goyle cut in as if Crabbe had forgotten his name. 

“Yeah”, replied Crabbe. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter. He certainly won’t try to talk to you in Potions anymore.”

“I didn’t tell that snake to do anything!” defended Harry. “If you hadn’t conjured it then none of this….”

Draco cut in. “Then people would still think you were the heir. Face it, Potter, people will be looking at you now closer than before.”

“Let them,” started Harry. 

“And,” continued Draco. “You’re going to need allies, Potter.”

“Allies?” Harry nearly laughed. “, but you hate me?”

“So?” Draco asked like it was no big deal. “Slytherins stick together. We have our own kind of loyalty.”

“Which is why you told me about Snape,” said Harry. Tonight’s events finally making sense. Draco hadn’t suddenly grown a conscious, he just wanted to have an in with whoever he thought was in power, and   
right now, he thought that might be Harry. 

“Thanks for the information Malfoy, but I already knew I wasn’t Snape’s favorite person. Perhaps when you can tell me something I don’t already know I’ll accept your sidekick application.” 

Harry heard Blaise choking from the relative safety behind his curtains. Draco sneered, “We’ll see who needs the sidekick before this is all over, Potter. One day you might just be grateful for my help.”

Harry got back in bed. 

“Yeah, that’ll happen, when did you say, oh yeah, when you and Neville become chummy.” Then Harry flicked his curtains shut with finality. 

But this was Draco Malfoy. 

Draco drew open Harry’s curtains again. 

“He doesn’t just dislike you, Potter, he hates you, and you should know this offer comes with an expiration date. Just give it some time, Potter, and you’ll see that Slytherin loyalty is better than most.” And with   
that, Harry’s curtains were shut again. 

They didn’t open again until the morning. 

&&&

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the newly fallen snow, everything was white and dirty gray, but Harry had a mission. Find Justin. He hadn’t been in class, but as Harry was walking   
back to the common room he saw a group of Hufflepuff’s enter the library. 

When Harry entered the library, Harry saw the same group of Hufflepuff’s sitting near the back, but they didn’t seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry could see that their heads were close together and that they seemed to be having a rather intense conversation, but he couldn’t see if Justin was among them. 

He was walking towards them when a part of what they were saying met his ears. 

“So, anyway,” a stout boy was saying. “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for a while. I don’t know how Potter knew Justin was a Muggleborn, but they probably have a registry with all their names on it in that lair of his.”

“So, you definitely think its Potter, then, Ernie?” said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously. 

“Hannah,” said the stout boy solemnly. “He’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a dark wizard. They called Slytherin himself serpent tongue.”

There was some heavy murmuring at Ernie’s remarks before the boy continued eagerly. “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the heir beware. Filch is always after everyone’s case. I heard one of Potter’s friends had to serve a detention with him, and that Creevey kid was obviously getting on Harry’s nerves. Bam! Mrs. Norris and Creevey have both been attacked.” 

“He always seems so nice, though,” said Hannah uncertainly. “And he was the one who got rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He can’t be all that bad, can he?” 

“Yeah, and he got rid of him when he was a baby. Maybe that’s why he wanted to get rid of him in the first place. Couldn’t have another dark lord to compete with, could he? I just wonder what else Potter’s hiding?”

Harry couldn’t take anymore. Harry was about to step out from behind the bookshelves when, “HISS!!!” filled the air and every one of the Hufflepuffs jumped into the air as Terrance Higgs slammed his fists down onto their table. He hissed at them again before Marcus Flint slapped him on the back and the two moved toward another table. 

“Beware the heir!!” Terrance shouted at the now terrified looking Hufflepuffs. 

Harry moved toward the door. They wouldn’t care what he had to say anyway. Let them think what they wanted. 

“Sit with us!” Harry turned at the voice of the lucky person being invited to sit when he heard. “Yeah, Potter, sit down.” Harry turned to see Adrian Pucey, his old Captain Marcus Flint and a few other, upper year   
Slytherins beckoning him over to sit…..with them?

“Yeah, Harry,” said one of the girls Harry had only ever seen, but not talked to. 

“Let’s go, Potter,” said Terrance coming up behind him and clapping him on the back to urge him into action. 

Harry tripped forward until he found himself seated at their table. “Don’t pay them any attention,” a girl on the opposite side of the table said. “Hufflepuffs are all bark, no bite.”

“As opposed too?” Terrance asked her, with a cheeky smirk. “Bite me, Higgs.”

“Anywhere in particular?” Higgs replied before Marcus elbowed him. “Mind the kid.”

“The heir of Slytherin is afraid of a little innuendo?”

“He’s twelve,” Marcus dead panned. “Besides can you even spell that word?” 

A few of his other table mates giggled, but Harry didn’t dare. Insults may be how Slytherins showed their affection, but this wasn’t his group. These weren’t his friends. He wasn’t sure what they were. But he knew that when the group of Hufflpuffs and that big mouth Ernie left the library they got a clear message as every one of his new tablemates turned to give them death glares. Harry is one of us. You mess with him and you mess with all of us.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I hope you're sticking with me. I love you for the kudos. I'm working on P.O.A, and it will diverge even more so from the original. You can follow me as always on Tumblr at thinkmyhappythoughts or on twitter at Mitchel_chelsea. This story is also being posted on tumblr @authormitchel. And Jo, if you're reading this, I have an idea. Call me.

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor. The Slytherins might have had his back, but he needed to make sure that Ron knew that he hadn’t had attacked Filch because he wanted vengeance for Ron’s detention. He needed to make sure that Ron and Hermione and Neville and everyone else knew that he hadn’t attacked anyone. 

He was halfway down the passage to their common room when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor. He turned to squint at what he had fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved. 

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Harry knew he had to find someone, but he was as frozen as Justin was. People would think, it would be automatic, the thought that he had something to do with this, but he needed to get him. He couldn’t just leave Justin lying there. As he stood there, panicking, a door next to him opened with a bang and out came Peeves the Poltergeist. 

“Oh, Potter! Wha….” He looked down at Justin’s immobile form and how Harry hadn’t noticed before, Nearly Headless Nick. “ATTACK! ATTACK! THERE HAS BEEN ANOTHER ATTACK! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” 

Door after door opened, and the hall was filled, and Harry was in the middle once again. “Caught in the act!” Ernie yelled, his face stark white as he pointed a dramatic finger at Harry. 

As the teachers examined the two new targets, Peeves broke into song. 

“That’s enough, Peeves,” barked Professor McGonagall before Peeves could get to far. 

“This way, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. 

“Professor, it wasn’t…”

But Professor McGonagall just shook her head. 

“Follow me,” she said, and Harry didn’t have to look to know where they were heading. They were going to Dumbledore’s office. 

&&&

 

They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.   
Dumbledore’s office was a large and circular room, full of funny trinkets. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. Sitting on a shelf behind what Harry assumed was Dumbledore’s desk was….the sorting hat. 

Harry looked around, but not seeing or hearing anyone, he walked over to the sorting hat, picked it up, and sat it on his head. 

Then a small voice said, “Bee in your bonnet Potter?”

“I was wondering,” Harry said. 

“You’ve been wondering why I put you in Slytherin House even when you might have once had a preference for elsewhere?”

“Yes,” said Harry. 

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, after everything that you know would you rather be a Gryffindor? Would you trade your friends and your house for another?”

Harry thought of Millicent and Blaise and knew that if he had been put into another house that they would be nothing to him. 

“Or are you wondering if I, too, believe that you are the heir of….”

Harry grabbed the top of the hat and pulled it off. He had heard it all day, and didn’t feel like hearing it again from a hat. 

He sat the sorting hat back on the shelf and backed away from it. Then, a strange gagging noise behind him made him turn around. 

He wasn’t as alone as he thought he was. Standing on a perch behind the door was a decrepit looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it and the bird looking balefully back, making its gagging   
noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail. 

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore’s bird to die when he was alone in the office with it, when it burst into flames. 

Harry yelled in shock, then backed away, ready to book it toward the door when it opened and Dumbledore came in, looking very somber. 

“Professor, your bird. I didn’t do anything, he just caught on fire.”

In Harry’s astonishment, Dumbledore smiled. 

“About time too,” he said. “He’s been looking dreadful for days; I’ve been telling him to get a move on.”

He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry’s face. 

“Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him….”

Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one. 

“He’s really quite handsome most of the time,” said Dumbledore, seeming to read Harry’s mind. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing properties, and they make   
highly faithful companions.”

Dumbledore had just settled behind his desk, ready to expel Harry when Hagrid burst into the room a wild look in his eyes and a dead chicken swinging from his large hand. 

“It wasn’t Harry Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid urgently. “I was talkin ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir….”

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid was intent on finishing his thought, the dead chicken in his hand flying around in his agitation. 

“It can’t have been him, I’ll swear it in front of the Ministry of Magic if I have too…”

Part of Harry wanted to nod alongside Hagrid, while the more pressing part of him wanted to avoid the flying chicken. 

“Hagrid!” said Dumbledore loudly. “I do not think that Harry attacked those people.”

“Oh,” said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. “Right, I’ll wait outside then, headmaster.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” said Harry, bolstering Hagrid’s shoulders as he walked out of the room. 

Turning back to Dumbledore, “You don’t think I did it, sir?” 

“No, Harry, I don’t,” said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again. “But I still want to talk to you.” 

Harry tried not to look as unsettled as he felt as Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together. 

“You have loyal friends, Harry.”

“I do, sir,” agreed Harry. 

Dumbledore wanted to know how he had come across Justin and nearly headless Nick, but that was it. Harry wasn’t going to be expelled, and for that he was grateful. 

 

The double attack had turned the nervousness in the castle into real panic, and more people than ever seemed intent on going home for Christmas. Ron was staying for the holidays, as well as Hermione, Millicent and Blaise were both going home this year, but Harry wouldn’t be alone in the dorm room as Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were staying as well. 

Harry was almost glad so many people were leaving. While the rest of Slytherin house had continued to close ranks around him, it would be nice not to have people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he were about to spout fangs or spit poison. He was tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed by groups who could only stare at him. 

Fred and George, however, found it all very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors shouting, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through….” 

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior. 

“It is not a laughing matter,” he said coldly, but seeing as he and Fred still weren’t on speaking terms, neither seemed to want to press the other. Passing by Percy, Fred spoke up again, “Out of the way Ginny, Harry’s off to the   
Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servent.”

Ginny wasn’t amused. 

“Oh, don’t,” she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic every time they met. 

Harry didn’t mind. It made him feel better that there were at least some people who weren’t convinced at his being the Heir of anything. Though their jokes had quite the opposite effect on any passing Slytherin. Millicent   
for one definitely wasn’t keen on Fred and George’s behavior. 

“Don’t turn all Gryffindor on me while I’m gone, Potter,” she warned. “And if you go anywhere make sure to, at least, take Goyle with you.” 

Goyle who had met Harry and Millicent in the courtyard shook his head vigorously. 

“You’d do that?” he asked Goyle. 

Goyle shook his head. 

“It’s Mil’s Christmas present,” he said. “For the rest of her life,” he finished. 

“Promise me, Potter,” she said. 

“Okay,” he said, feeling only a little guilty about lying to her. 

“And stay away from Weasley,” said Millicent.

“What?” said Harry. “Do you honestly expect me not to hang out with Ron?” 

“Not that Weasley,” she said. “The other one, Percy. A few of the others,”

“You mean Draco,” Harry filled in. 

Millicent sighed. “Will you please get over Draco, darling, this is getting pathetic.”

“What did Draco say?” asked Harry in a huff. 

Millicent sighed again, unhappy that Harry clearly wasn’t taking her seriously. “Draco and some of the others have seen him sneaking around lately, after hours. He’s on the lookout for the Heir apparent or their next victim.” 

Harry knew exactly what was going on with Percy, but it didn’t seem like it was something he should tell. 

“Alright,” Harry said again, giving Millicent a hug and waving goodbye as she joined the others to be carted to the train. 

 

&&&

“I’m just going to breakfast, Goyle,” said Harry. Goyle had been taking Millicent’s request a little too seriously. Harry hadn’t been able to so much as go to the bathroom without his large, overbearing escort since she left. 

But Goyle wasn’t moved. He even joined Harry at the Gryffindor table as he ate breakfast with Ron. 

“What are you doing here?” Percy asked as soon as they sat down. 

“Eating breakfast,” said Harry. “and him?” Percy asked. 

Goyle just gave him a look that said, “Bring it on ginger” before picking up a muffin and shoving it in his mouth. After a few seconds of trying and failing to stare Goyle down Percy gave up and stormed out of the Great   
Hall. Ginny was looking a little forlorn, but Harry put it down to the chill that seemed intent on permeating the castle walls.

Harry had hoped that whatever was going on between Fred and Percy would have worked itself out, but as Fred entered and Percy left, neither acknowledged the other. 

And preparing to break another promise to Millicent, Harry set off after Percy. Assuring Goyle that he would be back and making sure that he had more muffins on his plate, Harry left the Great Hall.   
Prefects had their own bathrooms on a separate floor so Harry figured he should start there. A few moving staircases later, and a glimpse of red hair had Harry in an unfamiliar part of the castle, stepping in….oh gosh, was that toilet water?

Harry had heard a few of the girls in the common room talking about “that horrid ghost” in the bathroom with the “great mirrors”, but he hadn’t thought about it until he was right outside the door. He could hear crying from inside, and wondered briefly if this was where Percy had gone to get away. 

“Who’s that?” the ghost asked. “Come to throw something else at me?”

Harry waded into the bathroom and said, “I’m Harry, Harry Potter,” he introduced himself. “Who? Who threw something at you?”

“Don’t ask me,” the ghost shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. “Here I am, minding my own business when someone gets the real “funny” idea to mess with   
Myrtle.” 

“Let’s all throw books at Myrtle because she can’t feel it. Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don’t think so!”

“Who would do such a thing?” Harry asked, trying to sound as affronted as she clearly was. 

“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” said Myrtle, glaring as if she could conjure the assailant in that moment. “That thing, over   
there, it’s all washed out….”

Harry looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up when someone stepped in front of him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Goyle asked, traces of blueberry still stuck to the side of his mouth. 

“That thing could be dangerous,” Goyle said. 

“I know you don’t like learning, there, Goyle, but it’s just a book, how could it be dangerous?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Goyle, who was looking apprehensively at the book. “You live in a pureblood household, and you learn not to touch old books. You only get your hand burned once.” 

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy. 

“We have to look, Goyle,” 

“Mil will kill me if anything happens to you, Potter.”

“Who’s this?” Myrtle asked. 

“Moaning Myrtle?” said Goyle. 

“Moaning? What?” she asked, clearly offended. 

As she corned Goyle next to the wall and the sinks, Harry reached under them and grabbed the book. 

“How dare you, Goyle?” said Harry, grabbing Goyle and pulling him toward the exit. “Myrtle has been through enough, don’t you have any shame?” 

“Tell him, Harry,” Myrtle said, as Harry managed to pull Goyle out of the bathroom, Percy forgotten as he eyed the strange book now in his possession. 

 

Alone in the common room that night, Harry opened the now dry book, finding all of the pages empty except for the first. T.M. Riddle. Harry thought about showing it to Ron, or at least, letting Goyle know he took it out of Myrtle’s bathroom, but he didn’t. 

Harry couldn’t explain even to himself, why he didn’t just throw the diary away. Even though he knew the pages were blank, he still kept picking it up and turning the pages as though it were a story he couldn’t wait to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never heard the name T.M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though Riddle was a friend he’d had when he was very small, and had half-forgotten. But that was absurd. He’d never had friends before Hogwarts. Dudley had made sure of that. 

Nevertheless, Harry was determined to find out more about Riddle, so next day at break, he headed for the trophy room. Professor McGonagall had said something about his father being one of the best Quidditch players she had seen and wondered if maybe he could find something about Riddle in the trophy room. A photo or a trophy with his name on it, anything. 

It took some digging, but there it was. 

A burnished gold shield that was tucked away in a corner cabinet, forgotten and dusty had one, Tom Riddle’s name on it. Special services to the school? Whatever that meant. 

And before Filch or anyone else could find him, Harry also found Riddle’s name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys. 

He kept the diary close to him, and sometimes caught Millicent eyeing it when she didn’t think he was paying attention. It turned out the diary was getting more than just his attention. It was on Valentine’s Day when she   
got the advantage on him. 

As Harry was forced to withstand a singing Valentine, Millicent had snuck into his bag and pulled out the diary and finished walking into the library where they were to meet with Hermione and Ron.

“Give that back,” said Harry. 

“And what is it, exactly, Potter?” she asked. 

Ron leaned over examining the diary as Millicent opened it’s pages. 

“It’s blank,” she said. 

“No, wait, T.M. Riddle,” said Ron who had walked up on them. “I’ve heard that name before. He got an award or something like that, special services to the school like fifty years ago.”

Harry didn’t volunteer the information that he already knew, but Ron didn’t have anything else to add that Harry didn’t know. 

“Where did you find it, Harry?” 

“In the library somewhere,” Harry lied, but Millicent didn’t look convinced. Thankfully, though, Hermione walked up at that moment and the conversation was stalled for a while. 

Harry stayed after everyone had come and gone. Opening the book and closing it several times, giving Millicent some time to head to her dorms. 

Harry made his way to the dungeons, and gave the password, “Vox nihili.”

Harry thought the common room would be empty, but in a semi-circle clearly waiting for him sat Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Millicent, Draco Malfoy, and a very bored looking Blaise. 

“Finally decided to join the party, Potter?” Blaise said, eyes sparkling as Harry’s discomfort increased. 

“Come sit down, Potter,” said Draco. “It’s story time.”

 

Draco paced in front of the ornate fire place, casting shadows on his captive audience. Harry had wanted to forget all this and go to bed, but he wanted to hear what Draco had to say, especially if he was going to give Harry some information about the diary. 

Harry looked to Millicent to see if she had said anything about it, but none of the others seemed to know anything about it and for that, Harry was thankful. The less people who knew about the diary the better. 

Malfoy started. “This isn’t the first time that the Chamber has been open. When I told my father about what had been going on, he got this look, like he knew something that he wasn’t telling me. So, after asking….”

“Begging him into submission,” Millicent translated. 

Draco gave her a look. 

“So, after asking him about it,” Draco repeated. “He only said that it has been fifty years since the Chamber was said to have been opened for the first time. It was before his time, but he said that it was all hush hush. Dumbledore doesn’t want people to know what’s going on because he doesn’t want the school to be shut down, but with more students getting attacked, well, father thinks he soon won’t have an option.” 

“Draco,” Millicent prodded, getting Draco back on track.

Draco straightened his robes in what Harry thought was a nervous gesture. “My father said that last time the Chamber was open someone died, a Mudblood.”

“Muggle born,” Harry piped up, but Draco just brushed him off. 

“Who opened it last time, or do you think I somehow managed that one, too?” 

Draco gave him a look like it could very well be possible. “He didn’t know, but it’s safe to assume that person was expelled. They’re probably in Azkaban.”

Harry looked to Millicent, but Draco caught him. 

“Wizard prison,” Draco supplied. “Really, Potter? Savior of the Wizarding World, my arse.” 

“And what else does your father say,” asked Harry, getting annoyed. 

“Nothing really, but that I should stay out of it, and let the heir get on with it, there are too many Mudbloods as it is. Though, he does have a lot on his plate at the moment, or I’m sure he would have named names, starting with   
Gr…”

“That’s enough,” Harry said, getting up and walking to his room before he was drawing wands with Malfoy again or before Millicent could ask him about the diary.

“You may think you know it all, Potter, but you don’t!” Draco shouted at Harry’s back. 

Harry went to bed before everyone else that night, and put up silencing and privacy wards as he did. Harry sat on his four poster and flicked through the blank pages. There was something off with this book, but he   
couldn’t figure out what. Harry pulled a bottle of ink and a quill from his bag and dipped it in. A few drops dripped onto the page, but vanished just as quickly as they fell. Harry backed up, nearly throwing the diary beyond the boundary of his curtains. 

When his breathing returned to normal, he picked the quill up once again and wrote inside the diary, “My name is Harry Potter.” 

The words shone momentarily on the page and then, they, too, sank without a trace. Then, something happened. 

“Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?”

Then Harry really almost threw the bloody thing away. If he had enough sense he would have thrown the thing away, but he had to rationalize that it was all inside his head. It was a book, there was no way it could hurt him. 

Harry wrote quickly that he had found the diary, not wanting to offend the “person” by telling them that somehow tried to flush it down the toilet. 

“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.”

“What do you mean?” Harry scrawled, before those words, too, vanished. 

“This diary held things that happened, terrible things that happened at Hogwarts.” 

“What kind of horrible things?” wrote Harry, not wanting to give anything away. 

The response came after a moment. 

“What do you know of the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I know it was opened a long time ago,” wrote Harry, coyly.

“In my fifth year,” Riddle wrote. “The Chamber was opened and the monster who resides inside it attacked several students, murdering one. I know this because I caught the person who opened the Chamber and that   
person was expelled. But the headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth about what had happened. They said the girl died in a freak accident, and they gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut even though we all knew that it would happen again. The monster was still alive and the one who could free it was still at large.”

“Who?” Harry wrote. “I need to know who.”

“I can’t tell you, but I can show you,” came Riddle’s reply. “I can show you my memory of that night, if you are willing.” 

Harry glanced around the dormitory nervously. Maybe he should just stop now, he had some more information, more than he had before. But this person was offering him everything, to know everything.

“Let me show you,” Riddle’s words came up again. 

Harry paused for a fraction of a second then wrote, “Okay.”

Harry felt like he was falling forwards, through an open window, but there was no window only the page before him. Harry was pitched headfirst into colors and shadows unfamiliar. 

He felt his feet his solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus. 

He knew immediately where he was. Dumbledore’s office looked very much the same as it did today, but it wasn’t Dumbledore who sat behind his desk. A wizened, frail looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of   
white hair, stood in front of him, reading a letter by candlelight. 

Harry tried to talk to them, but they couldn’t hear him. This must be Hogwarts as Riddle had known it. No Fawkes, No Dumbledore, just sleeping wizards in their frames. 

There was a knock on the office door. 

“Enter,” said the old wizard in a feeble voice. 

A handsome boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glittering on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he had the same jet-black hair. 

“Ah, Riddle,” said the headmaster. 

“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle. He looked almost nervous. 

“Sit down,” said Dippet. “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.”

“Oh,” said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly. 

“My dear boy,” Dippet said kindly. “I cannot possibly let you stay over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?”

“No,” said Riddle at once. “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that….to that…” 

“You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays. I believe?” said Dippet curiously. 

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly. 

“You are Muggle born?”

“Half-blood, sir,” said Riddle. “Muggle father, witch mother.”

“And are both your parents….”

“My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived long enough to name me, Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.” 

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically. 

“The thing is Tom,” he sighed. “Special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…”

“You mean all these attacks, sir?” said Riddle, and Harry’s heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything. 

“Precisely,” said the headmaster. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy…the death of that poor girl…You   
will be safer by far at our orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Minister of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the er..source of all the unpleasantness….”

Riddle’s eyes widened. 

“Sir, if that person was caught…if it all stopped…”

“What do you mean?” said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. “Riddle, do you know something about these attacks?”

“No, sir,” said Riddle quickly. 

But Harry was sure it was the same sort of “no” that he himself had given Dumbledore. Dippet sat back, looking vaguely disappointed before he dismissed Tom. 

Tom slid off the chair and slouched out of the room. Harry followed him. 

As Riddle walked, Harry could tell that he was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed. 

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn’t see another person until they reached the entrance hall. 

“What are you doing wandering around this late, Tom?”

Harry gaped at the man. It was Dumbledore, fifty years younger, but still at Hogwarts. Always at Hogwarts. Harry felt a brush of comfort knowing that. 

“I had to see the headmaster, sir,” said Riddle. 

“Well, hurry off to bed,” said Dumbledore, giving Riddle one of those looks that he knows so well. “Best not to roam the corridors so late, especially not these days. Not since….”

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle goodnight, and strode off. Riddle watched him until he was out of sight, before taking off toward the dungeons. 

Riddle led him down the corridor towards the potions classroom. He entered. The torches hadn’t been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just see him, standing stock still by the door,   
watching the passageway outside. 

He was still like a statue for at least an hour, but just when Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense and stared wishing he could just snap out of this already, he heard someone move toward them. 

Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle edged toward the door and followed the figure. 

“C’mon…gotta get yeh outta here….C’mon now… in the box….”

There was something familiar about that voice….

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. 

“Evening Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply. 

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

“What yer doin’ down here, Tom?”

Riddle stepped closer.

“It’s all over,” he said. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.” 

“Wha’d yeh?”

“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and….”

“It never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking. 

“Come on, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer. “The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do if make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered….”

“It wasn’t him,” roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. “He wouldn’! He never!” 

“Stand aside,” said Riddle, drawing out his wand. 

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. A vast, low slung, hair body and a table of black legs and the gleam of many eyes and razor sharp pincers burst through the door behind them. Riddle raised his wand, but it   
was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing through the corridor and out of sight. Riddle raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand and threw him back down, yelling, “NOOOOOOOOO!” 

The scene whirled and Harry felt himself falling again. He landed back on his four poster bed, Riddle’s dairy lying open on his stomach and one word on his lips. 

“Hagrid.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry nor Potter. I do love him though. Almost to the end, thanks for sticking with me, for reading and commenting. I truly appreciate it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Jo Rowling call me please. I have an idea.

Harry told Millicent, Ron, and Hermione about it the next morning. They had different reactions. 

“What a nark!” exclaimed Ron. 

“Well, we always knew Hagrid was expelled for something, we just didn’t know what,” said Harry. 

“I mean, squealing on Hagrid like that. That Riddle character sounds a lot like Percy.” 

“But that thing killed someone, Ron,” said Hermione. 

“What did you do?” Millicent asked Harry.

Harry sighed. “I wanted to tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

“He was so young, and he seemed in genuine disbelief that whatever it was had hurt that girl.”

“Maybe we should just go to Hagrid’s hut and ask him about it,” offered Hermione. 

Ron balked. “That’d be a cheerful visit. Hello, Hagrid, set anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?” 

Ultimately, they decided to keep it between them. If anything Harry wanted to keep Hagrid’s name out of the fray. He knew now why Hagrid had been so vehement in his defense in Dumbledore’s office. He didn’t want 

Harry to get kicked out like he had been. Harry knew then that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Hagrid. 

Let the whole world believe he was the heir of Slytherin as long as Hagrid wasn’t involved. 

 

&&&

 

It was Huffelpuff verses Gryffindor, but Marcus still had his team gather together like it was their game day. It was only because Snape threatened Marcus and the others that they wouldn’t be able to go at all, that the team didn’t have to go in full uniform to “show force”, but Marcus did insist they sit together. 

Harry could hear Malfoy grumbling about it, even as he went back to the dorm to grab his scarf. 

Harry opened his trunk, but noticed that his cloak was on the wrong side of his trunk. Moving it, Harry checked further down where he had hidden the diary. 

It was missing. 

Draco, it had to have been. Or Crabbe or Goyle, or could he really trust Nott either? Or any of his housemates? But why would they want it, no one could have known what it could do. Could they? 

Harry headed to the field, he needed to talk to Millicent. 

He made it to the pitch just in time to see Professor McGonagall come half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone. 

Harry’s heart dropped like a stone. 

“This match has been canceled,” Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. Over the boos and shouts Oliver Wood landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his   
broomstick. 

Harry couldn’t hear what he said, but Professor McGonagall’s response was clear. 

“All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further instructions. As quickly as you can, please.”

Then she lowered the megaphone, and looked directly at Harry. 

“Potter, I think you’d better come with me….” 

Wondering how on Earth she could possibly suspect him for whatever it was now, Harry let her lead him to the infirmary oddly, picking up Ron and Millicent as they went. 

“Hermione” Ron groaned. 

Hermione lay utterly still on the bed, her eyes open and glassy. She had been petrified. 

“She was found near the library,” said Professor McGonagall. “I don’t suppose any of you would care to explain this? It was on the floor near her….”

She was holding up a small, circular mirror. 

They all shook their heads, eyes glued to Hermione. “I will escort you to your common rooms.” 

 

&&&

 

If they were going to find out anything about Hermione then they needed to talk to Hagrid. Millicent and Harry fit well under the invisibility cloak and with a clear sky, they made it to Hagrid’s hut without any trouble. Ever since Mrs. Norris, Filch didn’t seem to have the joy in catching students that he once did.   
Seconds after they had knocked on Hagrid’s door, it flung open. They found themselves face to face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind them. 

“Oh,” he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. “What’re you two doing here?”

“What’s that for?” said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as Hagrid let them in. 

“Nothin’….nothin’…” Hagrid muttered. “I’ve bin expectin’…..doesn’ matter….sit down….I’ll make tea…”

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He seemed frazzled and jumpy. 

“Are you okay, Hagrid?” said Harry. “Did you hear about Hermione?”

“Oh, I heard, all righ’,” said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice as he glanced nervously at the windows. 

Hagrid went to add some fruitcake to their plates when a loud knock at the door came and he dropped it to the floor. 

Harry and Millicent exchanged a panicked look as Harry threw the Cloak back over them and retreated to a corner farthest away from the door. 

Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more. 

“Good evening, Hagrid.”

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-looking man. 

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes, but Harry only noticed his lime green bowler hat. 

“That’s the Minister of Magic!” Millicent breathed so quietly Harry wasn’t sure she had actually spoken at all. “Cornelius Fudge.”

“Bad business,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones. “Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things’ve gone far enough. Ministry’s got to act.” 

“I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. “You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir…” 

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge. 

“Look, Albus,” said Fudge, uncomfortably. “Hagrid’s record’s against him. Ministry’s got to do something…the school governors have been in touch….”

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before. 

“Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. “I’m under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, he’ll be back and no more said. But I’ve got to   
take him. Got to. Wouldn’t be doing my duty….”

Millicent had to dig her nails into Harry’s arms to make him stop when he heard. “Azkaban.”

Then she purposefully let go when Lucius Malfoy strolled into Hagrid’s hut, swathed in a long, black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl. 

“Already here, Fudge,” he said approvingly. “Good, good…”

“What’re you doin’ here?” said Hagrid furiously. “Get outta my house!” 

“My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your…er….d’you call this a house?” said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. “I simply called at the school and was told   
that the headmaster was here.”

“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” said Malfoy lazily. “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension….you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? At this rate, they’ll be no more Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts and wouldn’t that be awful….” 

“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Fudge, looking alarmed. “Dumbledore suspended, no, no, last thing we want just now….” 

“The board of governors….” Lucius started to defend. 

“Yeah,” roared Hagrid. “And how many of them did you have to blackmail before they signed the thing, eh, Malfoy? Yeh can’ take Dumbledore. Take him and the Muggle-borns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killings next!”

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy.

“If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside….”

“But….” Stuttered Fudge. 

“No!” growled Hagrid. 

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray eyes. 

“However,” said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word. “you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will   
always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore looked straight at them before they all moved toward the door, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have to do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ‘em right! That’s all I’m sayin’. An’ someone’ll need to feed Fang while I’m away.”

The door banged shut and Harry pulled off the cloak. 

Millicent stood and started to pace. “We’re in trouble now,” she said hoarsely. “No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be another attack within days.” 

“I didn’t think you cared that much about Dumbledore.” 

“I don’t,” Millicent said, looking at the closed door. “but we need him.”

Fang started howling and Harry felt it in his bones. 

 

Five people if you count Mrs. Norris and Nearly Headless Nick, had been petrified, and Harry had to follow the spiders? “What in Salazar’s name does that mean?” asked Millicent. “Hagrid’s insane,” she continued. “I knew it! That half blood of his, has got to be banshee. They’re all nuts.”

Blaise laughed. 

“If you think Hagrid’s anything but half giant or troll then you’ve lost it.”

Millicent threw a pillow at him. 

“Regardless, what kind of an idiot would willing go spider chasing in the Forbidden Forest?”

Harry gave her a wide smile. 

“Maybe just one idiot and one loyal, mean chess player….” Millicent was already shaking her head, no. “… and a truly incredible witch.” 

“Absolutely not,” she said. “No way,” she rose from her high back chair where they were sitting in the common room. “Absolutely not. There is no way, Potter, maybe Blai….

“Nope,” popped Blaise. 

Harry put his hands together. “Please, Millicent, I need you,” Millicent bit the inside of her lip, but grudgingly shook her head. 

 

With Harry’s invisibility cloak and Fang in tow, Millicent and Harry headed into the Forbidden Forest. Fang scampered about their feet, the only light the moon and the tip of their wands. 

“Over there!” Millicent shouted. 

Harry shined his light toward the forest floor where a line of spiders were heading deeper into the forest. Harry paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside of his little sphere of light was pitch   
black. 

Something wet touched Harry’s hand and he jumped back onto Millicent’s foot, but it was only an overzealous Fang. Harry looked to the low slung branches and thick wood, and could have sword he saw something moving. 

“Do you hear that?” 

“Nope, not a thing,” replied Millicent, though she was looking in the direction Harry had just been. There was a strange rumbling noise then silence. 

“If I die in here, Potter, you’re going to think Myrtle is a good time.” 

Then, to their right came a sudden blaze of light so bright they both had to shield their eyes. Fang yelled and tried to run, the coward, but was stopped by a tangle of thorns. 

“Mil!” Harry shouted the same time Millicent shouted, “Darn Weasleys!” 

It was Mr. Weasley’s car. 

Harry thought it had been lost forever after he and Ron crashed it into the Womping Willow at the start of term. Harry blundered toward the light, Millicent and Fang following until they tipped out a moment later into a   
clearing. 

Mr. Weasley’s car was standing empty in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, it’s headlights ablaze. 

“It looks bewitched,” said Millicent even as the car slowly approached her like a frightened animal. 

“You think it’s been here all this time?” 

The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud, having been roaming the forest for weeks. Fang didn’t seem to trust it, keeping close to Harry as they moved closer. 

“We need to move,” Millicent said, even as her voice started to break. 

Harry didn’t even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking noise and suddenly something long and hairy seized him around his middle, and lift him from the ground, so that he was hanging upside down. With a   
rustle and a shout, he looked to see Millicent’s feet swept out from underneath her, too.   
He didn’t know how long he was in the creature’s clutches before he was dropped to the grass, but he knew it felt like forever. Spiders. Massive spiders had carried Harry and Millicent to this clearing where spiders of all sizes were waiting, surrounding them.

Harry looked up realizing that the spider who had dropped him was saying something. “Aragog!” it called. “Aragog!” 

And from the middle of a misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very deliberately. Pincers milky white, eyes on each side of it’s ugly head looked blank. The spider was blind. 

“What is it?” he said, clicking his pincers rapidly. 

“Men,” clicked the spider who had caught Harry. 

“Is it Hagrid?” said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely. 

“Strangers,” answered the other spider. 

“Kill them,” clicked Aragog fretfully. “I was sleeping….”

“We’re friends of Hagrids,” Harry shouted. His heart beating out of his throat. 

Click. Click. Click, the spiders echoed all around them. 

Aragog paused. 

“Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before,” he said slowly. 

“Hagrid’s in trouble,” said Millicent who was breathing very fast. “And we have come to seek the assistance of your highness.”

“In trouble,” said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard the concern behind the clicking pincers. “But why has he sent you?” 

Harry took a breath and spoke as calmly as he could. 

“They think, up at the school, that Hagrid’s been setting a….something loose on the students. They’ve taken him to Azkaban.”

Aragog clicked his pincers rapidly and all around the hollow the other spiders did the same. 

“But, that was years ago,” said Aragog. “They made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and   
set me free.” 

“And you…you didn’t come from the Chamber of Secrets?” said Harry, who could feel cold sweat dripping on his forehead. 

“I!” said Aragog, clicking angrily. “I was not born in the caslte. I am from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hid me in a cupboard in the castle, feed   
me from his table. Hagrid is my good friend and a good man. When I was discovered and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me and I have lived in the forest doing the same for him ever since. He found me a wife, Mosag, and since we have grown.” 

“I have never harmed a human, out of respect for Hagrid. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up.” 

“Honored one,” Millicent offered. “Do you know what did kill that girl?”

Her words were followed by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many legs shifting angrily, large black shapes shifting all around them. 

“The thing that lives in the castle,” said Aragog. “is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school.” 

“What is it?” said Harry urgently, regretfully. 

More loud clicking and rustling, the spiders seemed to be closing in. 

“We do not speak of it!” said Aragog, fiercely. “We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times.”

Harry knew he was pressing his luck.

“We’ll….” He started before Millicent joined in. “Thank you, honored one, for the information. We are sorry that we entreated upon your territory.”

“You have,” answered the spider who seemed to regard Millicent in a different way than he did Harry. 

“My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid on my command,”

Millicent interrupted. 

“And we are sure he is grateful, most honored, and we only came to inform about your good friend Hagrid’s state because we too, care for him.”

Millicent was looking around like she could hear something that Harry couldn’t. 

The spiders seemed to be approaching, each of them waiting for Aragog to give them the go ahead. Hagrid might be safe here, but Harry was under no illusion that he and Millicent were going to be. 

Even as Harry reached for his wand, Harry knew it was no goo, there were too many of them, but as he tried to stand, ready to die fighting, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light flamed through the hollow. 

Mr. Weasley’s car was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside, several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air like a turtle who can’t get up. 

“Get Fang!” Harry yelled at Millicent, diving into the front seat. He felt Millicent and Fang fall into the car after him. The car zoomed backward, dodging and knocking spiders this way and that, but soon Harry, Millicent, Fang and the car were in the clear. 

The car threw them out when they were in the clear. Harry and his cloak the grass while Fang licked furiously at Millicent’s face. 

“Follow the spiders, he said. Follow the spiders, I’m going to kill Hagrid,” said Millicent. “Oh, get off me you mutt.”

“I’m over here,” answered Harry, laughing, before he got up to help Millicent to her feet. 

“You are so dead, Potter,” said Millicent, slapping his hand away and getting up on her own. “After,” she clarified. “we go and see about your new girlfriend.”

Harry paused. 

“You don’t think….Myrtle?” he asked. 

She shook her head, yes. “Myrtle.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and the comments and kudos. I love you all very much.   
> And Jo, if you're reading this, call me, I have an idea.

“Mr. Finnigan if you need to relieve yourself, just go,” said Snape. “It’s too late for your potion, there is no possible way to ruin it further.” Seamus blushed a deep crimson, but stayed in his seat. 

Snape swept past Harry then Ron, making no comment about Hermione’s empty seat and cauldron. 

“Sir,” said Malfoy loudly. “Sir, why don’t you apply for the headmaster’s job?” 

“Now, now, Malfoy,” said Snape, though he couldn’t suppress a thin-lipped smile. “Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he’ll be back with us soon enough.”

“Yeah, right,” said Malfoy smirking. “I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job… I’ll tell father you’re the best teacher here, sir….”

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus who was pretending to vomit into his cauldron. 

“I’m quite surprised the Mudbloods haven’t all packed their bags by now,” Malfoy went on. “Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn’t Granger….”

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy’s last words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went unnoticed. 

After class, Seamus nearly jumped on Harry’s back as they walked to the Great Hall for lunch. “Did you hear?” asked Seamus, Dean Thomas coming up beside them, laughing at his best friends antics. “Professor McGonagall said that she had an announcement. Do you think it’s Quidditch?”

“I sure hope so,” said Ron. 

“What’s up Ginny?” said Millicent as they took their seats. She looked tense and nervous, and Harry noticed that her hands were twisting in her lap. 

“What’s up?” said Ron, helping himself to some porridge. 

Ginny didn’t say anything, just glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminded him startlingly of Dobby. 

“Spit it out,” said Ron, watching her. Millicent smacked him up the backside of his head. “What is it, Gin?” asked Millicent in a kinder voice. 

Just then, Percy walked up. “If you’re finished eating, I’ll take that seat, Ginny. I’m starving. I’ve only just come off patrol duty.”

Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the center of the table, his hand shaking slightly. He sure did take his prefect duties seriously. 

McGonagall came in and told them all that the Mandrakes were finally ready and that those who had been petrified would be back to normal soon enough. The students were glad at that, Oliver Wood gave a rather large whoop since that meant that Quidditch would be back on shortly. 

Millicent stood to go after Ginny, but Harry watched Percy. His hand was still shaking, but he seemed intent on eating as much as he could, it was like he hadn’t eaten in days, he did look thin, his skin paler than normal. 

Harry decided that he wanted to go off and see Hermione when Ron decided to tag along, hoping that he would run into Ginny and find out what she had wanted earlier. It wasn’t much use talking to a petrified person, but he figured he could try. Ron had some books he wanted to drop off anyway.

“She’ll freak when she wakes up and learns that we still have exams. She’ll want something to read,” he reasoned and Harry smiled at his friend. 

They were at the infirmary doors when they heard Professor McGonagall’s voice: “All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please.” 

Harry turned around to stare at Ron. 

“Not another attack? Who?” 

Harry knew that they couldn’t go back to the dormitories. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teacher’s cloaks. “In here,” he urged Ron. He   
had to make it to the infirmary. Harry knew that’s where they would be taking the next student anyway. 

After a few moments, Harry heard Professor Flitwick’s voice. 

“It’s Draco Malfoy, Merlin help us, some one will have to call Lucius.” 

“I will handle that role,” Professor Snape’s voice said, though he didn’t sound too pleased with the prospect either. 

After Harry heard the voices recede, Harry and Ron got out of the wardrobe. “But why would it attack Malfoy, it only goes for Muggleborns,” said Ron confused. 

Harry shook his head. Malfoy had been spending a lot of time in the library lately. Harry had just assumed that he was trying to beat Hermione’s final grades, but what if he had been trying to do something else. 

“Let’s go,” said Harry, but when Ron started to walk off toward the Great Hall, Harry grabbed his arm. 

“No, this way,” said Harry. “We have to go to the infirmary, try to see what Malfoy was up too.” 

Harry and a reluctant Ron sneaked to the infirmary. Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey was busy dealing with a few errant teachers to notice that they snuck into the   
infirmary. 

Malfoy laid there, paler than normal, and face frozen. He was one bed away from Hermione. Ron went to her first, like he had forgotten what they were supposed to be doing there when he saw her. 

Harry approached Malfoy and for once Malfoy didn’t look so different. He always looked so old, like he was so much more mature than the rest of them, but in that moment, he looked as young as he really was. 

But there was something in his hand. 

What? Harry thought, when Ron yelled, “Harry, come here!” 

Rushing to Hermione’s side, Ron was pulling something out of her closed fist. It was a piece of paper, a page from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out   
eagerly and Ron leaned close to read it, too:

“Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of   
Serpents….”

Harry read on silently as Ron continued looking over his shoulder at the parchment. 

And beneath the last sentence, a single word had been written: Pipes. 

“Ron,” he breathed. “This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber of Secrets is a basilisk…..a giant serpent. That’s why I’ve been hearing that voice   
all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. Its because I understand Parseltongue.”

It all made sense. The Basilisk kills by looking at someone directly, but in each case there had been something blocking the view. A camera, Nearly Headless Nick, mirrors or water. 

“Pipes….pipes,” said Ron, like he was working something out. Ron snapped his fingers. 

“The bathroom!” he exclaimed. “Moaning Myrtles bathroom.” 

“Ron!” Harry exclaimed. “You’re a genius!”

Leaving the infirmary they had to get to the tower. There was no way that Harry could take this information to Snape and since Professor McGonagall was acting   
headmistress, she had to hear this. 

“Can you believe it?” asked Ron. “Just wait until I tell my family we figured it out. And Her….”

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, what on Earth are you doing out? Didn’t you hear the message?” barked a very frustrated Professor McGonagall.

“Professor, we have to tell you….”

“Oh, dear,” said Professor McGonagall, “you’ve seen him?”

Harry’s eye widened. Surely she couldn’t think they were that beat up about Malfoy. He’d be fine soon after all with what the mandrakes being mature. 

“Well, don’t worry, Mr. Weasley, we have already called your parents and they will be here shortly.”

Ron gave Harry a confused look. 

“But you really should go and see the other Mr. Weasley, he was the one to find Fred and is very shaken up not to mention Percy. Oh, I really should’ve known, he was   
my prefect…..”

Then, Professor Flitwick came down the hallway not seeming to notice them until it was too late. “Percy Weasley, the heir of Slytherin, and he went after his own brother no less. The beast has taken Percy and no one has found a clue.” 

Fred. Petrified. 

And Percy. In the Chamber. 

And no one but Harry and Ron had a clue. 

Ron was promptly walked off to the tower. And to Harry’s chagrin, a Professor Lockhart had been roped into walking him back to the dungeon. 

But first, Lockhart had insisted that they stop by his office. “Just need to dig something out, just in case we need it, dear boy,” he said. But it didn’t look like he   
was trying to find something at all, it looked like he was packing. 

Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnight blue, had been hastily folded into one of them, books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk. 

Harry always knew he was a fake. 

“Books sure can be misleading, huh?” Harry asked. “So, what, you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done, and are what running   
away when you’ve been caught out to be nothing but a fake?”

“Harry, Harry,” said Lockhart shaking his head impatiently. “it’s not nearly as simple as that. There’s work involved. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn’t remember doing it. If there’s one thing I pride myself on,   
it’s my Memory Charms…..”

Lockhart prattled on, and for once Harry listened so when Lockhart raised his wand, Harry was quicker. 

“Expelliarmus!” 

Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk, his wand flew high into the air, but Harry didn’t catch it. 

“Blimey, Harry,” said George Weasley. “and here I thought you never listened to a word Snape said.” 

“George, what are you doing here?” asked Harry.

“Ron told me what the two of you found out, and while Professor McGonagall was forcing Ron up the stairs in the tower, I snuck out behind her to find you.” 

Harry looked at him. 

“You want to go find Percy. But what about Fred?”

George shook his head. “Fred will be fine, but Percy needs me. We aren’t, they aren’t getting along right now, but we’re still family. Percy’s a know it all and Fred   
can’t take anything seriously and he’s too stubborn for his own good, but they need a chance to mend that, and if we don’t find Percy and now, there might not be anything of Percy left to do that. I need to save him, Harry, and I need your help to do it. Please,” George stopped. “Help me save my brother.”

Harry nodded. How could he say no? If they waited, it might be too late for Percy. “Alright, but we take him, too,” Harry ticked his head toward Lockhart. “He might come in handy.” 

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.   
Harry stood listening to the silence, the only sound his pounding heart. He looked over his shoulder cautious that the basilisk could be anywhere. And where was Percy? George had kept his wand trained on Lockhart the entire time. They had made their way to Myrtle’s bathroom and learned from the source that she had been the Basilisk’s first victim. Harry had opened the secret passageway under the bathroom sinks with one word, “Open”, but it had been spoken in Parseltongue. It was only when Lockhart tried to run, grabbing George’s wand that the Memory spell he tried to fire rebounded, and a load of rock had fallen and separated them. Then, he was on his own, but with assurances from George that he would start digging him out, Harry had continued on down the darkened tunnel alone.   
He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to close them shut at the smallest sign of movement. If he was going to help anyone he couldn’t wind up like Draco or George. Then as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself looked into view standing against the back wall. . Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face. Ancient and sure even though the face was monkeyish. Harry was staring up at a large carved statue of Salazar Slytherin. The crazy egomaniac.   
Below the statue’s feet, facedown, lay a black robbed figure with flaming red hair. 

“Percy!” Harry shouted as loud as he dared. Harry approached him slowly. 

“Don’t be dead! Don’t be dead!” 

He laid his wand down, grabbed Percy’s shoulder and turned him over. His face was white as marble, his face and hands cold. Good, at least he hadn’t been petrified. 

“Wake up! Wake up, Percy!” Harry urged, desperately shaking Percy’s shoulders, but his head merely rolled from side to side uselessly. 

“He won’t wake,” said a soft voice. Harry jumped and spun around on his knees. A tall, black haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching him. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though he was only just out of focus. There, but not there. 

“Riddle?” 

The boy nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. 

“What have you don’t to him? Is he..”

“No,” said Riddle. “He’s alive, but only just, I like to think.”

Riddle looked sickly satisfied at that. Tom Riddle had been a Hogwart’s student nearly fifty years ago, but where Hagrid had aged beyond the scared young boy he had   
been, Tom Riddle didn’t look at a day older then he had when Harry had seen him in the diaries vison, no more than sixteen. 

“What are you?” asked Harry. “A memory,” answered Riddle. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Harry shifted, his foot nudging something slightly.

“The diary.”

Riddle nodded. 

“You’ve got to help me, Tom, you were a prefect, right? And he needs help, please.”

But Riddle didn’t move. Harry, sweating, knew he needed to drag Percy closer to the exit, picking up and pocketing his wand before he did, but….”Where is it?”

He looked up. Riddle was twirling his wand between his long fingers. 

“Listen, Tom, we’ve got to go. We’re all in danger. There’s a basilisk, Tom, it can kill if you look at it directly.”

“Relax, it won’t come until it’s called.” 

Harry let Percy fall to the floor gently. “Give me my wand, Tom.”

Harry felt lost without it.

“I don’t think so.” Tom dismissed. 

“Wha…” 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this Harry Potter,” said Riddle. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.” 

Something was wrong. Harry knew this was the same prefect, head boy, who had served the school, but he also knew this was the boy who had purposefully or   
not gotten Hagrid expelled. 

“Why is Percy like this?” Harry asked slowly. 

“Well, that’s an interesting question,” said Riddle pleasantly. “And quite a long story, I suppose though we should start at the beginning, when a distraught and outcast boy opened his mind to someone he thought was an equal.” 

“What are you talking about?” interrupted Harry, his senses on alert. 

“The diary is mine, but for months it has been in possession of young Percy here. Oh, how he bewailed his family who didn’t understand him. The brothers who teased   
him and who took his one true friend in his house. Oh, how he moaned on and on about Oliver Wood.”

All the time he spoke, Riddle’s eyes never left Harry’s face. He wanted to know how much he was effecting Harry. “His brothers took his friends and a boy named Harry Potter took his place among his brothers. I assure you it was very, very boring. He’s quite dull, isn’t he? But I soldiered on. I wrote back. I was sympathetic. I was nothing more than a mirror of Percy’s psyche, assuring him that he deserved what he always believed he did. No one understands, he said, no one gets how I feel, he whined. This one thinks he’ll be minister one day, can you believe it?” 

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that made the hair on Harry’s neck stand up. 

“So, Percy poured his soul out to me and his soul was exactly what I needed. I grew stronger and stronger and far more powerful than Mr. Weasley. The more distraught, the more he felt exiled from his family the easier it was to pour my soul into him.”

“What’d you mean?” asked Harry.

“Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter?” said Riddle softly. “Percy opened the Chamber of Secrets. He strangled the school’s roosters and threatened the Mudbloods   
with it on Hogwart’s walls. He set the serpent on Mudbloods and traitors, even his own brother.” Harry shook his head. “Of course, he didn’t know what he was doing   
at first. “I’ve been studying too much I must have crashed last night because I can’t remember anything.” “Tom, Filch is looking at me funny, but I haven’t done anything. I’m a prefect.” “Forget Fred, what does he know? If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be so stressed.” “Tom, I’m starting to forget things. The attacks are quickening, what is going on?”

“That was when he caught on, and when you found the diary. Oh, don’t be jealous, Harry, you were the one I always wanted.” Riddle laughed. “He meant nothing to me, honestly.” 

“And Hagrid?” 

“That oaf?”

“You framed him, didn’t you?” 

“It was too easy, really. It was my word against Hagrid’s really. Who was old Armando Dippet going to trust, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but oh so brave,   
prefect, model student or Hagrid? In trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed and sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls, I knew he was hiding something else and everyone else was just as easily convinced. Except for the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, he never seemed to like me as much as the others. He thought Hagrid was innocent and convinced Dippet to keep him on as gamekeeper.”

“I bet Dumbledore saw right through you!” said Harry his teeth gritted. “He did keep an eye on me after that, but I still had the brains and the power, and I was smart enough to make sure not to open the Chamber again while I was at school. But I wasn’t going to waste all those long years I spent looking for it so I left this diary and preserved my sixteen year old self in it’s pages so that maybe one day someone would find it and finish Salazar Slytherin’s noble work.”

Harry laughed. 

“You haven’t finished. You haven’t done anything, Tom! Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey have been working on the mandrakes all year. Everyone who has been petrified will be healed, and I will get Percy out of here.” 

Riddle didn’t look as upset as Harry thought he would. 

“Let them,” he replied. “Let them heal the Mudbloods and traitors, it isn’t them that I am after anymore.” 

Harry stared at him. 

“Haven’t I already told you,” said Riddle quietly. “they don’t interest me. For many months now, my new target has been you. Imagine how angry I was when that dumb block Crabbe stole the diary and Percy just so happened to catch him out with it and confiscated it once again. After Fred there wasn’t much left in Percy here, so we wrote a little farewell message on the wall and he came down here to wait.”

“For what?”

“For you, I have many questions for you Harry Potter.” 

“Like what?” Harry spat, fists clenched. 

“How is that, you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar,   
while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

“What do you care? Voldemort was before your time.”

“Voldemort?” said Riddle reverently. “is my past, present, and future Harry Potter…”

He pulled Harry’s wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words. 

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Then he waved the wand once more and the letters rearranged themselves to:

I Am Lord Voldemort 

 

“My mother gave me the blood of Salazar Slytherin and while I had my dirty Muggle father’s name, I used this title during school. Only to my close friends, you see. How could I keep the name of the foul, common Muggle who abandoned my mother because he found out she was a witch? No, Harry…so, I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest wizard in the world!” 

“Far from it, Tom,” Harry said, his voice full of hatred. 

“What?” snapped Riddle.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Tom, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try to   
take Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw right through you when you were at school and he still frightens you today.”

The smile vanished from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. 

“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere mention of me!” he hissed. 

“So, what?” barked Harry. “Dumbledore is not Hogwarts, and at Hogwarts help will always be given to those that ask for it. And I’m asking right now, for Percy   
and for me.” 

“See, Harry, you don’t play by the rules, Slytherins don’t ask for help.” 

Riddle opened his mouth to say something else, but froze. 

Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle spun around to stare down the empty chamber where eerie, unearthly music was radiating. Then as the music reached a pitch, flames erupted at the top of one of the pillars and a crimson bird the size of a swan appeared and flew down toward Harry and Percy. 

“That’s a phoenix,” said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it. 

“Fawkes?” Harry breathed, as the bird landed on his shoulder. The bird dropped something on the floor. 

“And that,” Riddle eyed the object Fawkes had dropped. “…is the old school sorting hat.” 

And so it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry’s feet. 

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark Chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddle’s were laughing at once….

“This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Perhaps he assumed the great Harry Potter needed no more help than this? So, tell me   
Harry before I meet my demise by this ragged hat? How did you best me, not once but twice? How did you survive? Tell me everything you know, the longer you talk, the longer you get to live.”

The longer Harry stood there weighing his options he realized that Riddle was becoming clearer and clearer as the life drained from Percy. So, if it were to be a duel or a fight, it was better to be sooner rather than later. 

“You couldn’t kill me, Tom, because you were too weak. My mother, my Muggle-born mother died to save me. She stopped you killing me. And I’ve seen the real you. I saw you last year. You’re a wreck. You’re barely alive. That’s where all your power got you. You’re in hiding. You’re ugly. You’re foul….”

Riddle’s face contorted before he controlled it into an awful smile. 

“So, your mother died to save you. Yes, that’s a powerful counter charm. I can see now….there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. Because   
there are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles, Slytherins. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since Salazar Slytherin himself. We even look something alike….But after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That’s all I wanted to know.”

Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his own wand at him, but instead his smile only widened.

“Now, Harry, I’m going to teach you a little lesson. Finally, let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter and   
the pathetic weapons Dumbledore has lent you.”

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.”

Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes leaving his shoulder to stand by Percy so he could get a better look. 

Slytherin’s gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Harry saw his mouth opening wider and wider, and something was stirring inside, slithering from it’s depths. Harry backed until he hit the dark Chamber wall. 

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it shudder, Riddle had called the snake. 

“Kill him.”

The basilisk was moving towards Harry, it’s heavy slithering body moving heavily against the stone floor. Eyes still tightly shut, Harry began to run, his hands outstretched because he couldn’t stand to look at him. 

Voldemort was laughing at him. And only laughed more when Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood, the serpent was barely feet from him. 

There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him, and then something heavy hit Harry so hard that the he was smashed into the wall. He couldn’t help it, he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on. 

Fawkes was soring around the serpent’s head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers. 

Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake’s tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry.   
Harry turned away, but before he could, Harry looked straight into his face and saw that its eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the   
phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony. 

“NO!” Harry heard Riddle screaming. “LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM! KILL HIM!”

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, but still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes. 

“Harry?” a voice muttered. It was Percy. 

Phoenix tears. 

“Use the hat!” Harry called out to Percy, though he didn’t know why. 

Percy picked up the hat.

“It’s nothing,” he said. 

“But you’re not,” Harry encouraged him. “Your brothers love you, Percy. Fred and George, and Ron, they are all worried sick about you. Oliver is worried sick   
about you, your his best friend. No matter how much of an outcast you feel, Percy, you’re a Gryffindor, you belong here!” Harry shouted at him. 

The basilisk thrashed wildly at Harry. When something hard and heavy thudded at Harry’s feet. It was a sword. Harry glanced at Percy who was staring at him in wide eyed shock. 

“KILL THE BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU! SNIFF! SMELL HIM!” 

Harry was on his feet, ready. The basilisk’s head was falling, it body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face him, ready to strike. 

“DOWN!” a voice in Parseltongue shouted, but it wasn’t Riddle it was him. And the snake listened. It’s head bowed down slightly. The snake was listening to him,   
but it was confused. 

Harry picked up the sword and stabbed it into the snakes snapping mouth before Riddle could gain control once again. But as warm blood drenched Harry arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor. 

Harry slid down the wall, spotting Percy who was too weak to move any more than he had. 

“Fawkes,” said Harry thickly. “You were fantastic, Fawkes….” He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent’s fang had pierced him. 

“Your dead, Harry Potter,” said Riddle’s voice above him. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing, Potter! He’s crying.”

Harry blinked, as Fawke’s head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were flickering down his feathers until they landed on Harry’s arm. 

“I’m going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time, I have all the time in the world.”

Going to sleep suddenly felt like a brilliant idea.

“So ends the famous Harry Potter,” said Riddle’s now distant voice. “Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he thought he could win against. You’ll be back with your dear Mudblood mummy soon enough, Harry… She bought you twelve years of borrowed time, but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you know he must…..”

If this is dying, Harry thought, then it wasn’t so bad. Even some of the pain was leaving. 

But instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry’s arm. 

“Get away, bird,” said Riddle’s voice suddenly. “Get away from him, I said, get away….”

Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry’s wand, but Fawkes had already flown away. 

“Phoenix tears….” Said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry’s arm. “Of course…healing powers…I forgot…In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter, you   
and me….”

He raised his wand….

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry’s lap, the diary. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along. Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book. 

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the dairy in torrents, like blood, streaming over Harry’s hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was screaming, twisting and flailing then….

He had gone. Harry’s wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Shaking all over, Harry pulled the sword from the basilisk’s mouth and moved toward Percy. He was up, seeming to have gotten most of his strength back after Riddle had been vanquished. 

Percy offered up no exclamation, somehow he knew that Riddle had told Harry everything. 

“He’s gone,” Harry said, reassuringly. “And so is the basilisk.” 

“No small comfort,” said Percy. “I’m going to be expelled, my family is going to kick me out.”

Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber’s entrance. Harry and Percy headed into the tunnel, Harry put a hand on Percy’s shoulder in what he   
hoped was a comforting manner. 

“George,” Harry yelled into the tunnel. “I’ve got him, we’re okay.”

He heard George give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizeable gap he had managed to make in the rockfall. 

“Percy!” George thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull his brother threw. George wrapped Percy up in a big hug, and Harry could see the relief roll off of him. “You’re alive. Thank Merlin! Oh, Percy.” 

“Um, Harry?” George said, still holding onto his brother tightly. “How come you’ve got a sword?” 

“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” then Fawkes swooped over their heads and out of the Chamber. “I’ll explain that, too,” he said as George stared after the   
bird.

“Where’s Lockhart?” Harry asked. 

“Back there,” said George, still looking puzzled, but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. “He’s in a bad way. Come and see.”

Lockhart’s memory was gone. The Memory Charm he had fired backfired on him. He no longer had a clue who he was, or where he was, of who any of them were. 

“I told him to come and wait here. He’s a danger to himself.”

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all. 

“Hello,” he said. “Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it? Do you live here?” 

“No,” said George. “Let’s go, huh?” George offered Lockhart his hand and Fawkes flew above them. 

“You don’t think,” Percy said. But Harry already knew. 

An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they all were flying upward through the pipe. Harry could hear Lockhart dangling below him, saying, “Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!” 

They flew upward and before they knew it were back in the bathroom, and the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place. 

Myrtle gaped at them. 

“You’re alive,” she said blankly to Harry. 

“There’s no need to sound so disappointed,” he said grimly, wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses. 

“Oh, well. I’d just been thinking….if you had died, you’d have been welcome to share my toilet,” said Myrtle, blushing silver. 

“And what about me, Myrtle?” George asked with a wink. 

The ghost blushed even further. 

“What now?” asked Percy. 

“Now, we go save our friends.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for this Slytherin!Harry rewrite for the Chamber of Secrets. I just wanted to say that the characterization in this part is completely intentional. I read something on Tumblr awhile back that likened Ginny's experience with Voldemort and the diary to sexual violence, and I wondered what that dynamic would be like if it was one of her brothers instead, how the characters would react. So, if you think that's where I was trying to go, it is. 
> 
> In that vein, if you need any sort of help, please reach out and talk to someone. Sexual Violence is not a one gender issue. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this. 
> 
> Prisoner of Azkaban is very nearly completed. It is going to stray further from cannon than any of the previous stories, but I think you will all like it. And we will finally be getting some relationships. cough*Wolfstar*cough
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, I appreciate every hit this gets, and I forever love this fandom for what it has done for me. 
> 
> And Jo Rowling, give me a call, yeah?

For a moment there was silence as Harry, George, Percy and Lockhart entered the room, standing there in muck, slime, and blood. Then, there was a scream. 

“Percy!” 

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting, crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them went to embrace their son. 

“You saved him! How did you do it?”

“I think we’d all like to know that,” said Professor McGonagall, who was standing by Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. Harry walked over to the desk and laid the Sorting Hat, the ruby encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle’s diary down before them. 

Then he told them what happened, Hermione’s discovery about the basilisk. Aragog. Myrtle. And how they got into the Chamber. 

“How in Merlin’s name,” Snape interrupted. “did you survive that?”

Harry felt strongly that Percy’s bit of the story wasn’t his to tell. How Riddle had used him and got inside his head. But what if they expelled him. Percy wasn’t a little first year, he was a sixth year prefect. Would they think he should have known better? Or that he never should have put himself in that position to begin with? Would they place the blame on the victim when it was no one’s fault but Voldemort’s? 

Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore who smiled faintly. 

“What interests me most,” said Dumbledore. “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Percy when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of   
Albania?”

Relief, warm, sweeping, glorious relief swept over Harry. 

“W…what’s that?” said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. “You-Know-Who? Enchanted Percy. But Percy’s not….Percy, how?” 

Harry didn’t answer. If Percy was ever going to get over this then he needed to be the one to explain. 

“It was the diary,” said Percy. “Tom Riddle’s diary.”

“Oh, very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. He was probably one of the most brilliant students that Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Dumbledore looked to the Weasleys. 

“He disappeared after leaving school, traveled far and wide…sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, met with the darkest sorts then resurfaced years later as Lord   
Voldemort. He was barely recognizable as the head boy who once went to school here.” 

“But Percy,” said Mrs. Weasley. “What does our son have to do with…..with him?” 

“I found his diary,” Percy said, voice getting stronger as George stood firm beside him. “I’ve been writing to him all year. I was unsure, at first, I just thought it was a trick item, until…..”

“Percy,” said Mr. Weasley flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything? What have we always told you?”

“Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps it’s brain,” Percy replied dutifully. 

“Why didn’t you show it to anyone? Me or your mother? A Professor? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark magic.”

“Enough, dad!” George cut in. “How was Percy to know it was a Dark object? Anyone can get joke diaries at Zonkos for a few sickles. He shouldn’t be punished   
because some psycho took advantage of him. If anything I’m the one who should be punished. I knew he was having a hard time…”

George choked up, and the tears were already flowing down Mr. Weasley’s face. 

“I should’ve asked him… I should’ve been there….” 

Then Mr. Weasley pulled both of his sons into a crushing hug, each Weasley repeating the same phrase, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Even Dumbledore looked touched   
at the family’s loving display. 

No punishments were doled out, but three awards for special services to the school were given out, one for Harry and one for George, and one on behalf of   
Millicent Bulstrode, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and Percy Weasley, all who had aided in the discovery and removal of the basilisk and the diary. It turned out that Hermione wasn’t the only one who had discovered what was going on. In order to prove Harry wrong, Draco had been spending countless hours in the library, finding out the identity of the monster right before he had been petrified. He set out to prove Harry wrong and he did. 

“And what do you say Lockhart, do you corroborate their story?” asked Snape, skeptically. But Lockhart was just staring off into space, the jewel on the sword having caught his full attention. George then explained about the memory charm and Snape had to hide his smirk. 

“Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy?”

“Sword?” he said, absentmindedly. “Is this my sword?” he asked, wide eyed. 

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary too?” Dumbledore asked George who was to escort his brother there immediately along with Mr.   
and Mrs. Weasley. 

“I’d like a few more words with Harry.”

“Sit down, Harry,” he said, and Harry sat, feeling unaccountably nervous. “First of all, Harry, I want to thank you,” said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. “You must have   
shown real loyalty down in the Chamber to have called Fawkes to you.”

“Tom,” Harry stated, he assumed that’s what they were here to talk about. “He said I’m like him. Strange likenesses, he said.”

“Did he now?” said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. “And what do you think, Harry?” 

“Maybe I am in superficial ways, but I would never have done that to Hagrid or Percy. He didn’t understand love or that Percy would try to fight back. He underestimated all of us. A real Slytherin wouldn’t have done that.” 

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “There are a lot of things Voldemort does not understand. Harry, I believe you can speak Parseltongue because Lord Voldemort can   
speak Parseltongue. If I’m not mistaken he transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure….”

“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?” Harry said, thunderstruck. 

“It certainly seems so.”

“But sir, I wanted to be in Gryffindor. I asked the Sorting Hat to put me there, but it put me in Slytherin instead.” 

“A truly extraordinary magical artifact. It gave you the sword when you truly need it and it gave you the house that you needed, you may not have chosen your house, Harry, but you chose to after Percy in the Chamber, you remained friends with Misters Weasley and Longbottom and stood by Ms. Granger. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. You have defined your time here not as a Slytherin or a Gryffindor, but as a student of this school. What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. While I need to write Azkaban, we need our gamekeeper back and dear me, it seems we need yet another Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. We do seen to run through them, don’t we?”

It was then the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall. Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury n his face. And cowering behind his legs, fingers wrapped in bandages was Dobby. 

“So, you’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to come back to Hogwarts.”

“Good evening, Severus,” said Dumbledore, smiling evenly. “Once the eleven other Governors heard that Arthur Weasley’s son had been killed, they wanted me   
back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too. Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place. You’ll be glad to know we stopped the attack without any fatalities and caught the person responsible.”

“Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Did you find the person who did that to my son?” 

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.” Dumbledore held up the diary, a giant hole now in the middle of it. 

“I see….”, said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore. 

Dobby behind Mr. Malfoy was doing something very odd. He would glance at the diary then point to Mr. Malfoy then hit himself hard on the head with his fist. 

“A clever plan, if not for Harry here and George Weasley, Percy Weasley might have taken all the blame and we would never have known.” 

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. 

“Very unfortunate,” he said stiffly. And it clicked. 

“Don’t you want to know how Percy got a hold of the diary, Mr. Malfoy?” asked Harry. Lucius Malfoy rounded on him. 

“How should I know how the idiot boy got a hold of it?” he said. 

“Because you gave it to him. In the overcrowded Florish and Blotts, you bumped into him and slipped it in his pocket.” 

He saw Mr. Malfoy’s hands clench then unclench. 

“Prove it,” he hissed. 

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book, but I’d say Arthur Weasley, for one,   
would make it his personal mission if you were to give out any other of Lord Voldemort’s school things to innocents.”

Lucius looked like he was going to reach for his wand, but instead said, “We’re going, Dobby.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Harry gasped after he had caught up with the man in the hall. “I’ve got something for you.” And he forced his smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hand. 

“What the…” Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock from the diary, threw it aside then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry. “You’ll meet the same sticky end as   
your parents one of these days Harry Potter,” he said softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too. Come, Dobby.” He turned to go. 

“I said, come.” 

But Dobby didn’t move. 

“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it and Dobby caught it. Dobby….Dobby is free.” 

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen then he lunged at Harry. 

“You’ve lost me my servant, boy!” But Dobby shouted. “You shall not harm Harry Potter!” There was a loud bang and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed   
down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, pulled his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger. Lucius Malfoy had no choice. 

With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight. 

“Harry Potter freed Dobby. Harry Potter set Dobby free!” 

“Least I could do, Dobby, for a friend,” said Harry. The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile. 

“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby ever knew!” he sobbed. “Farewell, Harry Potter!” 

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared. And Harry smiled. 

 

Harry took his seat at breakfast the next morning and glanced over at the Gryffindor table where Percy sat flanked by his brothers. Fred sat beside him, a companionable arm threw across Percy’s shoulders. Oliver Wood sat in front of them as they all sat chatting merrily and though Percy and George looked a bit rougher than normal, Harry could see that none of that mattered. 

“How long do you think that will last?” asked Millicent. 

“Awhile,” Harry answered honestly. They all looked like one big happy family, now, but Harry knew what often happened with good intentions. 

Percy would need help to get over what happened between him and Voldemort, Harry just hoped that they would be there for him then, too. It’s always different when it’s old wounds verses new and people often lose interest when things aren’t exciting anymore, but he hoped the Weasleys were better than most people. 

“And what are you going to do this summer, Potter, or do you just plan to rest. I hear being the Heir of Slytherin can be quite taxing,” said Blaise. “The Dursleys aren’t much for rest and relaxation, at least, not where I’m concerned,” replied Harry. Blaise laughed.

Millicent and Blaise knew a little of what it was like to live with the Dursleys, but he spared them the details. They saw the Christmas gifts, if you could call them that, and how he skirted certain issues, or always kept his eyes trained on the person who happened to be the loudest one in the room, but they respected his privacy. 

“What about you, Mil?” Blaise asked. 

“France,” Millicent answered. “Berma’s getting married.”

“Who’s Berma?” asked Harry. 

Millicent growled. 

“Millicent’s sister,” Blaise answered. 

“Oh,” Harry said awkwardly, but didn’t press. 

As people were staring to leave the Great Hall, a Slytherin girl stood up with a plate full of food and “accidentally” spilled it all over Vincent Crabbe’s head. He   
spluttered then stood up in a huff, taking off out of the Great Hall intentionally ignoring Millicent’s smiling face. 

“Wait, I meant to ask you, that night, Crabbe said something about your….”

“Don’t say it, Potter!” Blaise paled, his dark face growing slightly ashy. 

“Sweet Salazar, Unless you want every Slytherin girl on your case like that poor fool Crabbe then you don’t want to finish that sentence.”

“What’s the big deal?” Harry asked as he and his friends stood to leave the Goodbye feast. Gryffindor had won the cup, but just barely. Slytherin was second, due   
to Malfoy and Wood’s accident and that last match being ruled a draw. 

“I’ll let Granger explain it to you. Respectable young ladies don’t speak about such things in mixed company,” said Millicent, brushing her hair over her shoulder. 

“Ha!” huffed Hermione as she met them outside the doors before her curiosity got the better of her. 

“What do I need to explain?” Millicent leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Hermione’s eyes widened comically before turning murderous then   
slightly amused. 

“The C word,” Hermione started. “is an old Pureblood tradition, quite archaic really.

“The point Granger,” Millicent prompted. 

“The contract,” she whispered. “is a tradition for pureblood girls. Most get them as soon as they are born, it’s the first stage in an arranged marriage. A contract   
could say, “She will not date anyone before the engagement,” It could have clauses for a specific hair color or style. It normally determines dowry and dictates property rights and such, but the details could be anything.”

“And you get these from birth?” asked Harry. 

“Six days old,” Millicent replied. 

“But why?” Harry asked. 

“Think about it, Potter,” said Blaise. “If there were no, uh, c words, then Goyle would have even fewer brain cells because they would be split between two heads.” 

Hermione nodded. “It’s a very taboo subject, usually only discussed within feminine company. What Crabbe said was a major faux pau. Pureblood marriages are   
carefully monitored and the sheer mention of Millicent’s contract could have hurt her in her current betrothed’s eyes. 

“You’re engaged!” Harry exclaimed. 

“Potter,” said Millicent, long suffering. “I’ve been engaged four times.”

“You’re twelve,” Harry deadpanned. 

“You should hear about Tracey Davis. Besides it’s not my fault Blaise and I didn’t last. Daddy just thought I could do better.”

Blaise smiled at her. “It was an honor while it lasted, Ms. Bulstrode.” Blaise bowed low to the ground, and Millicent curtsied. 

“Who else?” asked Harry.

“Let me guess,” said Hermione. “Goyle for sure.”

“Yes,” said Millicent. “He was number three and my personal favorite. No offense, darling,” she told Blaise.

“But not Crabbe.”

“No,” said Millicent. “Can’t guess, Granger?”

Hermione nodded. 

“Your old Captain,” Millicent told Harry. 

“Marcus!” Harry exclaimed. 

“Yes,” said Millicent. “He was number two. A little harsh, but better than my current betrothed.”

Just then Malfoy walked by and Harry caught the slight incline of his head in Millicent’s direction. 

“No way! Malfoy!”

Millicent clicked her tongue. “Sad, but true.” 

“But there’s no way you could marry Malfoy,” said Hermione. 

“It’s the way things are done, Granger.” 

“But that’s horrible,” said Harry. “You should, at least, have a choice.” 

“Oh, I do,” she said. “Any pureblood would do really.”

“Any pureblood?” asked Harry. 

“In theory,” replied Millicent distractedly messing with her hair. 

“So, in theory you could marry a Weasley.”

Millicent stopped her ministrations. 

“Uh,” 

“Because that’s what you said, Mil,” 

“No,” Millicent balked. “Not ever did the words, I would marry a Weasley come out of my mouth.”

“But you said,” Harry laughed. 

“Harry Potter, mark my words, I would rather eat slugs then marry one of those red headed miscreants.” 

Harry stifled a giggle remembering poor Ron, and told Millicent to be careful what she wished for. Harry got a jelly legs jinx for his trouble. 

“Hey, at least a Weasley would be better than a Malfoy.”

Millicent nodded indiscriminately, but didn’t say anything. 

As they boarded the train later that day, Harry was glad to see George, Percy, Fred, Lee Jordan and Oliver Wood sitting together, talking and laughing. 

Harry fell in behind Hermione and Ron, Millicent claiming the seat next to the window, and sat down, hoping that the next year would be quieter. Please, Merlin, no more creepy diaries or giant snakes, and no more finding out his friends are engaged to evil, blonde gits. Yeah, Harry thought, next year would be a lot more peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: thinkmyhappythoughts  
> Twitter: Mitchel_chelsea


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